


What the Heart Wants

by k_no_b



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Historical References, Miscarriage, Multi, Other, Prostitution, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2020-06-27 18:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k_no_b/pseuds/k_no_b
Summary: "I want to choose for myself what I want, regardless of what the world tells me what my choices are." Four women seek to make their own choices in a changing society.





	1. Chapter One

_**DISTURBANCE ON LOTUS; LAWMAKERS ARRESTED** _

_A disturbance on Monday at the famed bawdy house on Lotus Street left several imprisoned, and others shamefully charged with indecency. Most notably, several offenders are those that represent us in government! When quoted, the police captain said, "No one really knows the private lives of these politicians, but we could tell some stories. No one's record is clean in this city." Among those charged. . ._

A knock on her office door drew Tenten's eyes up and away from the paper she was reading. A young girl around seventeen was hovering around the partially open door.

"Yes?"

"Madame, there are some gentlemen here to see you."

Tenten's mouth pursed, but she nodded. The girl disappeared from the doorway and reappeared a second later with two men, who only began to remove their hats when they met Tenten's gaze.

"Gentlemen," she greeted, leaning back comfortably into her desk chair.

"Madame," returned the older of the two. His dark hair was lined with gray. "My name is Mr. Tono. This is my colleague, Mr. Mimura. We are property acquisitionists."

Tenten's eyes narrowed, her smile polite. "What an interesting profession," she said.

The older gentleman relaxed a fraction and flashed her a brief smile. "We like to think so, though I'm sure it's much . . . livelier here."

Tenten remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Madame, what do you know of the Hyuga Group?"

"Very little," Tenten answered, her tone sharpening, "other than that they have deep pockets."

"That they do," nodded Mr. Tono. "The Hyuga Group is owned by several different Hyuga family members. They are very interested in acquiring your property."

Tenten's brown eyes danced. "Hence your acquisitioning presence."

Mr. Tono chuckled lightheartedly. His partner, Mr. Mimura's frown deepened.

"Yes, that's right. I'm sure you're aware that they own most of the property on this street. They would like to make you an offer—"

"Before you go any further, both of you gentlemen should know that I'm not selling," Tenten interjected, her head lilting to the side as she studied her guests.

Mr. Tono smiled pleasantly; apparently, he thought his offering from the Hyuga Group was worth it. A second later, he confirmed Tenten's suspicions by withdrawing from his pocket a slip of paper, folded twice for privacy. He laid it on her desk, on top of the newspaper she had been reading. Tono's lips faltered a moment later when Tenten had yet to pick up the paper to view the offer, seemingly more intent on gazing between himself and Mimura.

"Please," Tono encouraged, gesturing to the paper.

Tenten smiled, tight-lipped. She tapped the slip with a rounded fingernail. "I think you misunderstand me. No sum written on this piece of paper would move me to sell my property."

Tono nodded in agreement, but Tenten could tell he was calculating his next move. She turned her attention to Mimura.

"Mr. Mimura, do you have any other offers for me to consider?"

Mimura turned to Tono, looking for guidance.

"This is the only offer we brought, madame. Are you sure you don't want to look—?"

Tenten wordlessly plucked the piece of paper from her desk, stood, and walked briskly to the dying fire in the grate. She cast it in without a second's hesitation. The three watched the paper settle on embers and slowly, slowly, blacken and curl into itself.

Tenten returned to her desk and sat, her hands clasped in her lap.

"If that will be all," she said, looking between them.

"Madame, the Hyuga Group is very adamant about securing this property. What else could they offer you?"

Tenten pulled the newspaper towards her again, sighing. "This property isn't for sale, gentlemen. I suggest you tell the Hyuga to not continue to waste their time in convincing me."

Mr. Tono bowed his head in good humor. Tenten found his smirk irksome; it meant he thought she was being unreasonable, or that she didn't know how to play in negotiations.

"Yes, madame. We will report back to the Hyuga Group and tell them you've rejected their offer. We are so sorry we bothered you."

"Good day," Tenten said, already opening her newspaper back up, holding it up to hide her face.

The men bowed their heads and exited, being led away by the seventeen-year-old girl who had been eavesdropping just out in the hall.

When their footsteps faded, Tenten cast the newspaper back onto the desk, troubled. This stupid courting had been happening for months, with a whole host of "buyers" and _now_ the Hyuga wanted to be direct?

Tenten irritably tugged on her collar and got to her feet. Moegi, her seventeen-year-old attendant, scampered back, wide-eyed, as Tenten opened the door.

"Did you need something, Madame?" she asked in a hurried whisper.

Tenten shook her head, distracted. She studied Moegi for a moment before asking, tone sharp, "The men that were just here—did they sit in the parlor for any amount of time?"

Moegi nodded once, trying to read her mistress' expression.

"Who did they speak with?" Tenten asked.

Moegi wrinkled her nose, thinking. "Miss Ayame, maybe? I wasn't watching very closely."

"How long were they here before they asked to see me?"

"Only a few moments, I think."

Tenten pursed her lips. "Bring Ayame here."

"Yes, madame." Moegi turned and scurried off back down the hallway, her bushy hair bouncing.

Tenten leaned against the open doorway of her office, one hand on her hip. A moment later, Ayame entered the hallway, Moegi trailing a few steps behind, looking anxious.

"You wanted to see me, madame?" Ayame said, her expression neutral and kind.

"There were two men who entered earlier. One of them was older, the other younger with facial hair. Did you speak with them?"

"Mr. Tono and Mr. Mimura?" Ayame said. She inclined her head in assent. "Yes, I spoke with them."

Tenten's eyebrows rose a fraction. "They told you their names?"

Ayame nodded again, shrugging. "They didn't seem guarded to me. Not like all those other inquirers."

Tenten shifted her bangs, musing. "What else did they say?"

"They attempted to ask me how long I had been working here, what my job entails. Things like that."

"Did they seem upset with your answer?"

"I wouldn't say so. It was a brief but polite conversation."

Tenten sighed, rubbing her neck. Moegi noticed and walked off, disappearing from the hallway.

"Madame, what do all these people with briefcases want with you? This isn't a place of trouble."

Tenten smiled wryly. "For the moment, no, it's not."

Ayame's forehead furrowed in suspicion. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Ayame. What will we all have the pleasure of eating tonight?"

Visibly put out, Ayame rattled off the menu for that night. Tenten squeezed her shoulder. "Thank you. I look forward to supper."

Ayame nodded and walked away to return to her post, her expression resigned and pleasant once more.

Tenten returned to her desk, pulling a dusty ledger towards her. Moegi returned with a warm rice pack for her shoulders.

"Thank you, Moegi," Tenten said, sighing with relief when she draped the weight across her neck.

"Madame, may I ask a question?"

"Yes."

Moegi reached forward and tapped the newspaper with a fingernail, jagged from nervous biting. "What does this mean?"

Tenten sighed. "Moegi, what did I tell you about reading the newspaper?"

"I can't help it!" the girl claimed. "It's like a bad habit."

"You're never going to stop biting your fingernails to the quick if you keep doing things that encourage your anxiety," Tenten said sharply. She snatched the paper from the pile on her desk and threw it into the fireplace. Like the slip of paper before it, the edges slowly curled inward.

"What did it mean though? Are they going to close us down?"

Tenten looked up at her charge, her features softening as she gazed at the girl.

"Even if they do, everyone will be taken care of. You don't have to worry."

"But what about you?" Moegi pressed. "Who will take care of you?"

"Moegi, don't worry alright? Just trust me."

Moegi still looked doubtful but was wise enough to know when she'd used up her mistress' patience.

"Thank you for the rice."

Moegi nodded, and swept out of the room, leaving Tenten alone. She turned in her chair to view the fireplace, and watched the newspaper languidly crumble to dust.

* * *

At four in the afternoon, Tenten finally departed her office and headed down the dimly lit hallway to the front dining room. Chatter was upbeat and raucous as she entered. Several girls greeted her, but most were too engrossed in their gossip to pull themselves away. Tenten silently went to the sideboard and filled a glass with deep red wine, even though it gave her headaches. A beautiful girl with long blonde hair sidled up to her, her blue eyes sparkling with knowing.

"You must have had an _awful_ day if you're drinking _that_."

"Don't start," Tenten warned, taking a wincing sip.

"Who's starting anything? I'm just making an observation."

"I had more visitors today."

The blonde's eyes widen, her plush mouth puckering in distaste. "Bastards. Why can't they leave you alone?"

"Because I'm the last holdout. Everyone on this damned street has given in except for me." Without another word, Tenten brushed past her and took her place at the head of the table, sipping more wine.

As per their usual ritual, the younger girls served the oldest, beginning with Tenten. Ayame came in from the kitchen and sat at Tenten's left, her forehead beaded in sweat from her work.

"Thank you, Ayame," Tenten murmured.

"It's my pleasure, madame."

Tenten waited until all the girls were served before regarding them, her expression serious. "I'm sure most of you noticed the return of men with briefcases," she began.

A few nodded, their foreheads knit in confusion; Tenten had never spoken to all of them so directly about it before.

Tenten continued, taking a short sip of wine, "They've been coming here for months, always different people with supposedly different agendas, but it seems that their employers are finished with pretense. Every time these people have visited, they have been assessing this property. Obviously, that's not what they told me they were doing. They said they were interested in partnerships or rent or wanted to sell me something. But I think the truth has finally been revealed."

"Today, the newspaper featured a small story about the house on Lotus Street. There was a police raid the other night that resulted in five arrests of government officials. Most of them were released, but they also imprisoned several of the women, claiming they were contagious."

There were rustlings of discomfort among the girls around the table, several shaking their heads.

"What I wanted to tell all of you is that this city is changing. It's been changing for a long time, and I think it would be wise for all of you to start figuring out what you want for your future."

Tenten gazed at each girl in turn, making sure they understood, and then turned to her food. The girls followed her lead, and soon, the room was again filled with laughter and gossip. Tenten listened, trying to ignore the foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach. She drained the rest of her wine and stood.

"Have a good night, ladies," she said.

Tenten walked into the entrance hall and looked around at the large parlor. As usual, it was spotless, every lamp and table immaculately dusted. The carpet on the floor was freshly beaten, free of dirt. The wine and champagne glasses on the large marble sideboard were sparkling from the dim lighting. Tenten took it all in as she leaned against the wall, wondering and questioning its worth.

-o-

Ino rolled onto her knees, pushing her hair over her shoulder. She gave him a small, girlish smile. He rolled his eyes and shifted to the edge of the bed, reaching for his trousers.

Ino tucked her legs underneath her, watching as he slowly—always so slowly—buttoned up his shirt, fussily pushing his stiff, long hair out of his eyes.

"I've been thinking about your position on property taxes," she said, a smirk in her mouth.

"You have," he stated, the tiniest amount of interest in his voice.

"Yes. And I think you should lower them," Ino responded decidedly. "As you know, this establishment stands in a highly taxed property division, and if you're going to pursue what the newspapers say you're thinking about doing, then that means the taxes on this place will hike up to two percent in the new year, and it's abominable of you to do such a thing to hardworking businesses such as this one."

He had turned from fastening buttons, and was staring at her baldly, a crease of interest at the crow's feet in his temple.

"Anything else?" he asked after a moment.

Ino tapped a finger to her chin, as if she was thinking. "I also think your hair looks much better down."

He snorted and silently gathered his hair up to tie it. "I'll take your comments under consideration."

Ino made a face. "Is that what you say to all of your constituents when they give you a piece of their mind?"

"Yes."

"I have another comment. You should work on your delivery some."

A rare, full grin spread across his mouth. "I'll take that under consideration as well."

Ino groaned and got to her feet, slipping on a robe.

"Listen, I'm a master of charm. I'm only trying to help you win over the people."

"The people don't pay that close attention, I've realized. Once they elect you, they only care if it directly affects them—which most of the time, it doesn't."

"And the poor souls whom it does affect?"

He shrugged. "You can't win over everyone."

"Cold-hearted bastard," Ino said with a smile.

"She-devil," he responded, crossing to the door. He glanced over his shoulder, and turned back, wordlessly reaching out and taking hold of the loose knot she'd tied to fasten the robe. He unloosed it with one hand, his gaze direct. "Can I make my own suggestion?"

Ino felt her heart hammering heavily against her skin, a buzzed rush filling her head. She nodded, her mouth dry.

He pushed off the robe, and it slipped to the ground. Ino shivered, goosebumps erupting over her skin.

"Don't hide what's clearly meant to be seen," he murmured, a self-indulgent smirk at the corner of his mouth.

Ino swallowed against the lump in her throat, her body tingling from the blood racing through her veins.

Without another word, he opened the door and swept into the hall.

"I'll see you next week, then?" Ino called, stopping in the doorway.

He gave a noncommittal wave as he headed to the concealed alleyway exit. Ino sighed and leaned her shoulder into the wall, feeling her heart clench a little as he disappeared back into his world.

* * *

Later, clothed and bleary-eyed from the night hours, Ino made her way to the dining room. Breakfast was the only meal they were free to take at whatever hour they chose, and as usual, most girls skipped it, valuing sleep more. Ino poured herself a small cup of coffee and wandered into the kitchen, finding Ayame withdrawing sweet buns from the oven. The smell made Ino's stomach growl.

"Good morning," Ayame greeted, shutting the oven door. "How was your night?"

Ino shrugged, plucking a bun from the baking sheet. She gasped at the heat and promptly dropped it; it landed on the floor and rolled under the icebox.

Ayame swatted Ino on the arm and marched over to retrieve the dirty sweet bun. "Honestly, Ino, couldn't you wait five minutes for them to cool?"

"I'm hungry," Ino whined, pouting.

Ayame hummed, ignoring her, and continued bustling around the small kitchen. Ino sipped her coffee, musing to herself, eyeing the steaming buns sitting in front of her.

"I saw Mr. Nara leave again last night," Ayame said, her tone lofty and gentle, as if she was afraid to broach the subject.

Ino bit the inside of her cheek, feeling the strange mix of thrill and nausea whenever his name was mentioned. Ino watched Ayame's back as she stirred congee from a pot hanging over the fireplace. She knew Ayame was not being unkind, only curious, if not a little protective.

"Yes," Ino said, deciding to permit the conversation. She sipped primly from her cup.

"Third time this week he's been here. Isn't that somewhat unusual?"

Ino hummed and shrugged, noncommittal. "He could be having a difficult week," she said, unsure.

"You know that I'm friendly with his cook," Ayame said, her tone shifting towards a hushed, confidential whisper. "Apparently the lady of the house is desperate for a child."

A sudden twist of queasiness burned in Ino's stomach.

"Everyone says she's barren," Ayame continued, unaware of Ino's discomfort. "Obviously you can imagine her family's reaction to that."

Ino reached out for a sweet bun, now cool enough to touch. But her appetite had left her. She tore off a strip and tore it into smaller pieces, imagining Mrs. Nara and her empty belly.

"Is she complaining to him?" Ino found herself asking.

Ayame finished stirring and reached for a cracked bowl, filling it with steaming congee. She placed it in front of Ino, along with a small dish of meat and eggs. "In not so many words. You know that woman's temperament. But the cook did say that she'd ordered tons of greens and fish for the next few weeks. And she's been eating boiled eggs with all of her meals for the past few months."

Ayame lowered her voice and said, "The cook also said that they've been having sex at ridiculous times of day. She'll have him come home in the middle of his work day and everything."

Ino mindlessly moved her spoon through the thick congee, her jaw tight. "Seems like a lost cause to me," she muttered.

Ayame shrugged, removing the sweet buns from the oven sheet and placing them on a plate. "Who knows? At least she's being proactive. I'm sure her family breathing down her neck hasn't helped matters."

Ino shoved the food away and stood from her stool.

"Ino, you didn't even eat—!" Ayame called after her.

"I'm not hungry," she responded, disappearing through the kitchen door to head back upstairs. As she passed the door to the back alley, however, her stomach seized, and Ino flung herself out of the door. She clutched her hair as she retched into the alley, the stench of sewage and bile assaulting her senses.

Ino wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Behind her, a familiar voice said, "Are you alright?"

Ino looked over her shoulder to see Tenten, her brown eyes questioning. Ino nodded.

"Come back inside," Tenten said, holding out her hand. Ino accepted it and let Tenten lead her to the washroom.

Without a word, Tenten drew Ino a bath and handed her a cloth to wipe her sweaty face.

"Did you have a bad night?" Tenten asked, once Ino had undressed and settled into the tub.

Ino shook her head, clenching her bony knees with shaky hands. Tenten perched on the lip of the bathtub, staring down at her.

"You shouldn't spend any more time with Mr. Nara," Tenten finally said.

Ino trained her eyes on the ripples of the water as it filled the porcelain tub, refusing to look her friend in the eye.

"I've told you a million times that it's a bad idea to keep taking him on as a customer. You need to think more clearly."

"I can't just refuse him," Ino replied, running a hand through her hair. "He asks for me."

"Then have Moegi tell him you're with someone else."

"You know that he would never come back if I did that. And he pays one of the highest rates."

Tenten pursed her lips, unwilling to argue the accuracy of that point.

"He likes me. I can tell," Ino said in a small voice.

Tenten sighed. "It doesn't matter, Ino."

"Why not? Listen, Tenten, he talks to me. He tells me things about his job, about his life. We share secrets." Ino winced. Even to her ears she could hear the desperation in her voice, and it both annoyed and excited her.

Ino met Tenten's gaze, seeing all the things she wanted to say in her brown eyes. Instead, Tenten merely replied, "Fine, I trust you."

Finely attuned to lies, Ino knew Tenten was telling the truth. But Ino could sense how it was against the brunette's better judgment.

"Get clean. You reek," Tenten said, smirking, as she left the washroom and closed the door behind her.

Ino sighed, still feeling sick. She slipped under the water and held her breath.

-o-

"A word, Miss Haruno?"

Sakura's cheeks warmed a little in irritation, her mouth slanting in a grim line. She turned and followed the hospital director into his office.

Sekka was an imposing man of considerable height with a thin, narrow face. He settled into his office chair and regarded her with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"Everyone knows you're new at this, Miss Haruno," Sekka began. He reached for a newspaper and held it up, tapping a small article at the bottom right hand corner of the front page. Sakura's green eyes flicked to the miniscule black and white photo of her, dressed in white, looking serious. "But just because you've graduated medical school does not mean that you have the right to re-diagnose someone who isn't your patient."

Sakura blinked, mulling over her response. "But she _was_ misdiagnosed, Doctor."

Sekka waved his hand irritably. "That's not the point, Miss Haruno. You interfered on another doctor's work."

"But he was going to kill her. He'd been bloodletting her for hours," Sakura snapped fiercely.

Sekka's mouth tightened angrily. "But she is _his_ patient."

"As a doctor, I could not stand by and let him kill her, even if she was his patient," Sakura defended, clenching her fists.

Sekka flinched, his expression haughty. "You call yourself 'doctor'. But in this hospital, you and I both know that you are nothing more than a casual observer who runs errands."

Sakura's face flamed in indignation. "I graduated from medical school just like any of these other men. You've seen my diploma, and you've seen my work. Your refusal to regard me as a doctor in this hospital is ridiculous. I know just as much as the others, if not more. Medicine has changed, Doctor. It is changing. And these ancient rituals that all of you are performing here are unnecess—!"

"Be quiet!" Sekka interrupted furiously. "I knew you would be trouble as soon as I saw your application! But I thought to myself, well, why not give the girl a chance? You came with good recommendations, but as soon as you walked through the doors of my hospital, I could sense you were going to be meddlesome. And I was right! This hasn't been the first time you've stuck your nose into a place where it wasn't needed, and I know now I can't trust you to learn from your mistakes. Please leave."

Sakura stared at him, green eyes flashing. "Are you firing me?"

"Yes. And if you make a scene, I'll be forced to call the police."

Sakura considered punching Sekka in the face but thought better of it; now that she was unemployed (again), it wouldn't be good to also end up in jail. She stood to her feet and stormed from the room, refusing to meet anyone's eyes as she strode from the hospital.

She slowed down after she'd put a few blocks' distance between herself and her former place of employment, wondering what she was going to do now. She had waited months before being offered a job in the hospital, and now what was she supposed to do?

Crossly, her thoughts turned again to her previous apprenticeship as a midwife; she could already hear their delighted cackling as she came crawling back for her position. _"How long did you last, Miss Sakura? Three months? You would have been better off staying here, where you belong!"_ and _"You stupid, prideful girl! You thought having a diploma was going to solve all of the prejudice against you?"_

Sakura gritted her teeth until her jaw ached.

She ambled down street after street, troubling through her next move, resigning herself to return to the midwife school with some semblance of dignity.

As she turned the street corner, a rank smell caught her nose. Looking around, Sakura noticed a young woman with blond hair, retching against a wall. Instinctively, Sakura rushed forward and held back the woman's hair, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

When she had finished, the woman straightened, leaning against the wall behind her. Her face was pale, her blue eyes dulled and watery from sickness.

"Thank you," she said in a labored sigh, holding her stomach. "I was just going to the store and felt sick again."

"You were sick earlier today?"

The woman nodded, pressing a hand to her head.

Sakura told herself to refrain from asking the dozens of questions floating through her brain. "Can I help you home? If you're sick you should be resting."

"I feel fine, just a little weak, besides all of the vomit." The blonde attempted a smile, though it turned into a half-formed wince.

"You should lie down," Sakura replied firmly. "Where do you live?"

The woman sighed and gestured vaguely north. Sakura nodded. "Come on." She wrapped an arm around the woman's shoulders and began to walk.

"This really isn't necessary," the blonde said. Her breath reeked of sick. Sakura had the good grace and training not to pull away.

"Whether it's necessary or not, it's my responsibility as a doctor to make sure you recuperate."

The blonde turned to look at her. "You're a doctor?"

"Yes."

The woman raised her eyebrows, though Sakura couldn't tell if it was because she was impressed or pitying her.

"That seems like a horrible job," the blonde finally said. _Pity, then_ , Sakura thought.

She frowned, offended. "Well, it's not," she replied shortly.

The blonde woman laughed, a high, frilly laugh that served to annoy Sakura further.

"Why is that women always get the most horrible jobs? Men get to be lawyers and statesmen. And what do we get? The messy stuff."

Sakura had no reply for this—she loved being a doctor, loved the messiness. She loved making people feel better, and bringing knowledge to confusion, and comforting those that were suffering. She opened her mouth to tell the woman so, but abruptly the blonde shook off her arm.

"This is my stop," she said, stepping towards a three-story brick building.

Sakura looked around her, unfamiliar with her surroundings; she'd never been to this area of town before. The blonde woman watched her confusion, a wry smile on her lips.

"Don't worry. You won't get arrested for standing around over here—that kind of business happens two blocks over."

Realization dawned on Sakura's features, and the blonde laughed coldly. She turned to go inside, but Sakura called out, "Wait!"

Sakura stepped closer as the woman paused, a single eyebrow arched in question.

A new idea was swimming around in Sakura's brain, and she latched onto it hungrily. "If you need something or if someone's sick or has a problem, why don't you call me? I really am a doctor; I have a diploma from a medical college and everything. I'm sure that. . . Well, none of you go to the doctor, do you?"

Slowly, the blonde shook her head, suddenly guarded. Both women knew what kind of ridicule waited for prostitutes in any kind of medical establishment.

"I can help. I can . . . treat you."

There was a beat of silence where the blonde considered Sakura curiously. Then, she shrugged, seemingly careless, and said, "Alright. I'm sure the owner wouldn't mind speaking with you. She's out right now but come back tomorrow morning."

Sakura nodded and began to walk away.

"Thank you for helping me," the blonde called after her.

"It's my job," Sakura called back with a small smile.

-o-

Hinata sat quietly in her family's dining room, hands clasped in her lap, letting the buzz of conversation pass over her. It had been harder, lately, to stay attentive in these informal meetings. Her thoughts wandered from the subjects being discussed, flitting to things she could tangibly experience: the fineness of the china plates set at each place, the delicate lines of silver thread on the tablecloth, the refined sweetness of sugar in her tea.

"Hinata?"

Hinata's eyes snapped to the eyes of her father, worry lines pronounced on his forehead and around his mouth as he frowned.

"Yes?" she replied in her quiet voice.

"Are you paying attention? This is important for you to remember when you talk with your husband."

Hinata nodded and tried to look more interested. Her cousin caught her eye from across the table, his expression watchful. Hinata looked back at her empty plate, wishing she was back home, far away from the prying eyes of her family.

But, unfortunately, this was not to be; her family's traditions were impossibly strict, and her marital status was not something that would change that.

Her father cleared his throat and continued, "As I was saying, the raid was incredibly important in condemning the kind of indecent behavior that these politicians seem intent on committing. As soon as we can secure the house on Leaves street, we can push through our agenda among our supporters."

Hinata sighed silently to herself, wondering when her father would permit breakfast to be served.

Her cousin leaned back in his chair. A maid rushed forward to refill his cup with hot tea. "Thank you," he said, distracted. To her father, he addressed, cautious, "Tono and Mimura returned the other day with details on their visit with the owner. She refused. Again."

Her father cursed, and Hinata shifted in her chair, uncomfortable.

"That woman is an unbelievable nuisance. What did she say—that the offer was too low?"

Neji touched his cup, but did not drink, eyes downcast as he chose his words carefully. "She didn't consider the offer. Tono said she threw it in the fire without looking at it."

The china clanked as the table shook, her father's knuckles white and taut in a fist.

"Those idiots. Everyone we've sent there has proved themselves to be woefully incompetent," said Hinata's father waspishly.

Hinata hated seeing him angry; it made her nervous. She gripped the fabric of her dress tightly, wondering if she could calm him with good news. But Hinata didn't have any good news to share; her ventures were as unsuccessful as her father's.

Neji continued, "Perhaps we should reconsider our approach. We've seen that she doesn't respond well to offers. . . Maybe she needs a different kind of incentive."

"Such as?"

Neji paused, thinking, but Hiashi decided to answer his own question. He let out a pleased sigh, "Neji, you're right. We need to take an even more direct approach. You will go and negotiate a deal. Whatever it takes."

Neji looked up at his uncle sharply. Hinata could see her cousin's jaw working, attempting to come up with an excuse, but they all knew he wouldn't offer one. Her father, seeing this, smiled kindly.

"Neji, you're very skilled at negotiating; you didn't graduate from law school at the top of your class without earning it. I know you can get the woman to sell. None of us will look down upon you for undertaking this. You're clearly the only person for the job."

Hinata watched her cousin closely, reading his subtle gestures. He did not want this job, that much was obvious. But who could refuse her father?

Finally, Neji nodded, once, in assent.

"Good," her father said, turning to Hinata. "And now you, Hinata."

Hinata felt her heart speed up in anxiety.

"You're taking the remedies I've been prescribing, haven't you?"

"Yes, Father."

"And still, there is nothing? Are you having your husband visit you regularly?"

Hinata's face flushed in embarrassment, in anger. "Yes, Father."

Hiashi sat back in his chair, perturbed. "I am at a loss then, why you aren't pregnant yet."

"Uncle," Neji began.

"You are dismissed, Neji. Go and deal with the madame on Leaves street," Hiashi said, interrupting before Neji could continue.

Silently, Neji stood from his chair and walked from the room, sparing Hinata a single, pitying glance.

Hinata looked at her hands again, fisted in her lap. "I'm trying, Father."

"Does he seem to enjoy himself, when you are together?" Hiashi pressed, oblivious to his daughter's discomfort.

Hinata pursed her lips.

"He won't look at me," she finally said, hating the words, hating their truth.

Her father sighed and took a long drink from his teacup. When he spoke again, his voice was lighter and more kind. "You know that I only want to do what's best for you, Hinata. I wondered, for a time, if marrying you to Nara would result in your happiness. But, as I'm sure you know, a good life isn't about happiness. It's about ambition."

Hinata looked up and met her father's gaze, wishing she could convey the depth of her unhappiness. If he understood, would he let her be free?

"When your mother died, she made me promise I would make a good match for you. And I truly believe I have. The Nara family is incredibly influential in this city. He was the only proper choice. And you must secure yourself to him and his family. You know the only way to do that is to have his child."

"Shikamaru would never divorce me," Hinata replied, her tone a warning to her father.

Hiashi waved this away, unconcerned. "Of course, he wouldn't. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't take a mistress. There are more damaging things to a reputation than divorce, Hinata."

Hinata's eyebrow twitched. Hiashi sighed again, heavily. "You know I'm telling the truth. It won't do to ignore my advice."

Hinata bit the inside of her cheek, wishing she could scream in frustration. "I'm not ignoring your advice, Father," she finally said.

"Good. Then you'll agree it's time to invite in an expert opinion. You will see a doctor."

Hinata blanched. "Father—!"

"Don't worry, Hinata. I will make sure it is someone with discretion. It's nothing to be embarrassed about." He looked over his shoulder and gestured to the maid.

Quiet fell as she ushered in breakfast. Hinata wished Neji was still present to alleviate the tension; he would surely commiserate with her when she told him of her father's new plan.

The maid daintily placed Hinata's breakfast in front of her, and Hinata ignored the urge to throw the plate against the wall. Slowly, stilling her shaking hands, she picked up her fork and began to eat her eggs.


	2. Chapter Two

Bright and early the next morning, Sakura set out to return to the house on Leaves Street. It was a blustery day; the wind whipped across Sakura's face, disturbing her hair and rustling her skirts. She carried her medical bag with her—a doctor must always be prepared, as she had learned in medical school—and mentally reviewed what she had consulted in her old textbooks last night.

They had rarely had women specimen in any of her classes at the medical college, due to modesty and unwilling participants. Even in lecture, women's anatomy had been mostly glossed over, with the professor relegating the finer details of a woman's body and its 'myriad of issues', as he had so wisely put it, to the textbook.

At least the midwifery school had done a better job at giving hands-on experience. Even though Sakura had disliked being made fun of for her ambitions, it had given her invaluable instruction.

When she reached the neighborhood of the Leaves Street house, Sakura took notice of the suddenly quiet street. She consulted her watch—it was just after nine in the morning. Her entire walk had been spent dodging businessmen on their way to work and women gossiping with friends as they guided prams on the sidewalk, headed out for the day's shopping. But now it was ghostly quiet; it was like Sakura had crossed into a different realm.

Feeling slightly self-conscious, Sakura quickly climbed the steps and knocked on the brick building's dark wooden door. She glanced over her shoulder, making sure she wasn't being observed; even with the blonde's assurances she wouldn't be arrested here, Sakura wasn't fully convinced. After a moment, Sakura raised her knuckles to knock again, just as the door swung open to reveal a small girl with bushy titian hair.

"Yes?" she asked, her dark blue eyes narrowed as she looked Sakura up and down.

"I'm here to speak with the owner," Sakura said politely.

"Do you have an appointment?" the girl said skeptically.

"Uh, no," Sakura said. "Do I need one?"

Without answering, the girl stepped back into the dim lighting of the building and beckoned Sakura forward. Sakura crossed the threshold, and the girl closed the door behind her.

"Wait here," the girl said over her shoulder as she walked away, heading down a weakly lit corridor.

Sakura stood in the entryway and took in the low-lit room. Off to her right was what looked to be an informal dining room—the doors were partially open. Casting a swift eye around told Sakura that she was the only soul present; she crept over to peek inside.

A long dining table was covered with a well-loved white tablecloth. The table wasn't set for breakfast, even though after counting the chairs, Sakura could tell it would serve at least fifteen people. A tarnished but ornate gold mirror leaned against the wall, set on top of a fine wood sideboard. Bottles of wine and champagne were crowded around it—most were half full.

"That room would be difficult to appraise," said a voice over Sakura's shoulder.

Sakura jumped, feeling guilty, and turned to face the person who had caught her snooping. A brunette assessed her with stunningly warm brown eyes, though even Sakura could tell the sharpness of them were not to be underestimated. Sakura smiled ruefully, glancing to the younger girl who stood just behind, at the brunette's shoulder.

"I guess I should give the Hyuga some credit—finally sending a woman to deal with another," the brunette continued, her comment offhand as she glanced around the building. A crease was developing in her forehead.

Sakura raised her eyebrows in confusion. "I think you have the wrong impression," she began.

"Then you're looking for a job?" the brunette asked, her gaze swiveling back to Sakura.

"No," Sakura answered. "I'm a doctor. Yesterday I helped one of your . . . employees—she was very sick. I offered my services to her and she said to come back here and speak with you."

"One of my employees?" the brunette said imploringly, her features sharpening with each of Sakura's words.

"Yes. . . she was in an alley. She had blonde hair. . ." Sakura trailed off, not sure how else to describe the woman she'd assisted.

"Ino was sick again?"

Sakura stared at the woman, taking note of her tone. She nodded silently.

The brunette blinked, considering her, then turned to the assistant at her elbow. "Moegi, find Ino for me, please." To Sakura, she said, "Follow me. My office is this way."

Sakura followed behind the brunette down the dim corridor she'd noted at her entrance. Halfway down the hallway, a door opened to the left, and Sakura was led into a small but cozy office. A large desk took up most of the room, with two squashy chairs crammed against a bookcase for guests. A fire blazed in a modest fireplace behind the desk. Without a word, the brunette gestured for Sakura to sit in one of the squashy armchairs, herself sitting in a leather chair behind the behemothian desk.

"Well, why are you here?"

Sakura opened her mouth to begin her rehearsed diatribe, but then the blonde from the day before burst into the office, saying, "Good morning, lady doctor! I'm surprised you decided to come."

The brunette considered the blonde—Ino, Sakura reminded herself—with a flat look. "Ino, what is this?" asked the brunette.

"She helped me yesterday," Ino said, gesturing to Sakura. "I was feeling ill again, and she helped me home."

"You were ill _again_?" the brunette said.

Ino waved this off, seeming unconcerned. "She's a doctor. She said she could treat us."

The brunette's eyes returned to Sakura, who promptly gave her introduction.

"My name is Sakura Haruno. I went to medical school, and I trained in midwifery. When I met Ino yesterday, it occurred to me that maybe you aren't seeking medical care, which could be dangerous for—well, for women in your profession," she ended awkwardly, trying not to blush.

"Do you have a job, Miss Haruno?" asked the brunette.

Sakura's cheeks warmed in anger. "I was fired yesterday."

"Why?"

"Because the men in the hospital think I'm no more than an assistant," Sakura spat, her ire from yesterday resurfacing. "Even though I have twice the credentials they do, if not half the brains."

The brunette smiled wryly.

"Miss Haruno, as I'm sure you know, I don't send any of my employees to the doctor because if I do, the likelihood of them coming back maimed or scarred, or worse, not at all, isn't worth the gamble. My business hinges on my employees. No woman I know, prostitute or not, would dare go to a doctor for anything more than a cold. So, please tell me, why it is I should take a gamble on _you_?"

Sakura swelled at this challenge. She opened her mouth and spoke heatedly, "When I was twelve years old, the boy I loved died because he had a disease. Doctors came and went out of his house, and none of them knew what was wrong with him. It was a rare disease—something that hadn't been studied and was sporadically documented. I made a promise to myself that I would never let that happen to anyone else I cared about. So, I went to medical school, and when I graduated and no one would give me a job, I went to learn midwifery. They laughed at me—for wanting to be a doctor, for wanting a job in a hospital, for desiring patients that respected me. Well, I've had three medical jobs and they've all gotten rid of me, in one way or another. I'm tired of trying to play by society's rules of what a woman should do. I want to choose for myself what I want, regardless of what the world tells me what my choices are. And I _can_ help all of you. Your health is important, and it's shameful that our society tells you that you can't seek treatment without risk to your own lives and dignity."

Sakura sat back in her chair, breathing heavily from the adrenaline rushing through her veins. The silence in the small room was palpable, but Sakura refused to feel embarrassed, despite her flushed face.

A beat passed, and then Ino gestured in Sakura's direction to her boss, "See, Tenten? She's shrewd enough to handle all of us."

Sakura held Tenten's gaze. Finally, Tenten sighed, a small smile forming at the corner of her mouth. "I guess you were here for a job, after all," she said. 

* * *

Sakura spent the rest of the morning consulting with each of Tenten's employees, checking over all things from pustules and moles to examining pelvises to discussing menstrual cycles. The women were amenable, something Sakura had never fully experienced in all her dealings with patients.

"I can't pay you much," Tenten said from the doorway in-between patients.

Sakura shook her head as she washed her hands in the sink—the bathroom was the most sanitary place Tenten had offered for her consultations. "It's not about money," Sakura replied. "I'd resigned myself to returning to the midwifery anyway for the time being. I can get work there too."

Tenten raised her eyebrows. "What will they say when you tell them you're giving prostitutes medical consultations?"

Sakura busied herself with her doctor's bag—reassessing her equipment. "I'm not planning on telling them anything." Sakura glanced up. "Are you next?"

Tenten crossed her arms, frowning. "I don't need a consultation."

"When was the last time you had your menstrual cycle?" Sakura asked, blowing past Tenten's excuse.

The madame reddened and turned on her heel. She called over her shoulder as Ino entered the bathroom for her turn, "Have Ino show you the private entrance. You can come and go from there. For discretion."

Ino smiled and sat down on the tub's edge. "I'm surprised you came. I thought I had scared you off yesterday."

Sakura shrugged. "I don't run away from challenges. Now, how long have you been feeling unwell?"

Ino hummed in thought, running a finger along the tub's porcelain rim. "A few weeks, I guess. But I only began vomiting yesterday."

"Have you vomited today?"

Ino shook her head. "I have been feeling nauseous though."

Sakura nodded, turning to her doctor's bag. She withdrew a small vial of spice and handed it to Ino. "You might have a tapeworm. Brew this with hot water and drink it. See if it helps."

Ino nodded and rolled the small vial in her palm.

"How is your reproductive health? When was the last time you had your menstrual cycle?" Sakura asked.

Ino shrugged with a smile. "God—a few months ago? It has always been irregular."

"Really?" Sakura pressed, pulling out a notepad to jot down this note. "What age did you first receive it?"

"Nine," Ino said.

"That's a little early," Sakura mused aloud. "And it has always skipped a few months?"

Ino nodded, noncommittal. "Sometimes it's very light, like it's not there at all. I don't really notice it."

Sakura looked at Ino, suddenly curious. "What do you all do—when you have your cycle? With your job?"

Ino chuckled. "We have some other girl take our clients. Tenten lets us off until it's over. Men don't like the blood." The blonde rolled her eyes.

"Men don't like anything that makes too much of a fuss," Sakura replied.

"Unfortunately for them, most things in life are messy," Ino agreed, smiling at the young doctor. "Come on. I'll show you the secret entrance—only the messiest men come through there."

Sakura thought she detected a pang of sadness in this last comment, but she dismissed it and followed Ino downstairs to the alleyway entrance.

"We sleep during the day, and business picks up around sundown. I wouldn't come here then. You should always use this back door when you come by," Ino said as she guided Sakura through a well-lit hallway hanging with paintings.

Sakura nodded as Ino swung open the door. Sakura stepped out and peered at Ino.

"Thank you. For the introduction," she said firmly, looking the blonde in the eyes.

Ino shrugged. "You're the one we should be thanking. You made a good impression; Tenten would never let you come near us unless she felt she could trust you."

"Still, I have you to thank. Without you—"

"You mean, without me vomiting in an alleyway, you wouldn't have come across this opportunity," Ino said wryly, smirking.

"That's an unfortunate way of putting it," Sakura replied.

"No use skirting around the truth. I'll try to stop vomiting everywhere for your sake."

Sakura returned Ino's smile and set out from the neighborhood, her heart a little lighter.

-o-

From the dining room doorway, Tenten could see Moegi, sitting in the kitchen with Ayame. She called out, "Moegi, Ayame, I'm leaving. I won't be back for supper. Please tell anyone that comes looking for me that I've gone out for the rest of the day, and I'll be back later."

"Yes, Madame!" Moegi responded. Ayame poked her head into view and waved sweetly. Tenten smiled at them, and started for the front door, absently smoothing her hair as she stepped out onto the front stoop.

"Pardon me—" said a voice.

"Aah!" Tenten exclaimed, clutching her chest in surprise. Tenten stumbled back through the partially open door and began to fall, before an arm reached out and steadied her. She looked up and met the gaze of a man, who looked just as startled as she did.

Hurriedly, the man withdrew his arm from her waist, but still held out his hand to assist her. Tenten viciously smacked his hand away, suddenly angry.

"Do you always stand that close to a door that has a possibility of being opened?" she snapped, reaching behind her to slam the front door for emphasis.

"I'm sorry, madame. I didn't—"

"We're closed," Tenten interrupted coldly, pushing past the man to descend the stairs. "Come back at sundown."

"Excuse me?"

The indignant tone in his voice made Tenten turn to study him. He was dressed in a smart gray sack coat and trousers. His hair was dark and long. But his expression is what drew Tenten's eyes quickly—he looked decidedly wealthy and annoyed. Tenten's entire body tensed; she would bet money on him being a politician. And Tenten greatly disliked politicians.

"We're closed," she repeated, staring up at him resolutely.

A vein twitched in his temple. The man cleared his throat and said with thinly disguised disdain, "I'm not here for _those_ services. I would like to speak with the proprietor of this establishment."

Tenten's hackles raised—surely those Hyuga had not sent another of their cronies to do business with her after countless rejections; they had to be smarter than that.

Tenten smiled delicately. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked politely.

"No," the man answered.

"Then I'm afraid I can't permit you to meet with her. Madame only receives visitors by appointment."

This irked the man. He glared down at her, clearly thinking she was a simple and meddlesome underling that worked in the house.

"Surely she would make an exception for important matters."

Tenten tilted her head to the side, as if in thought. "Forgive me, sir, I don't deal with a lot of important matters. What is it that you want with Madame?"

"I have business to discuss with her," he replied shortly.

Tenten shrugged, unconcerned. "Madame doesn't do business with a lot of people, and I've never seen you before. It sounds more like you're a solicitor, and Madame doesn't accept solicitors, appointment or no."

"Listen, girl," he began firmly, "if you continue to waste my time, I have no qualms in calling for the police captain and having you arrested for indecency."

Tenten had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Sir," she replied levelly, "I've already told you that Madame won't see you. Putting me in jail won't change that. Besides, I'm not scared of the police captain; I know where he spends his hard-earned money."

The man's expression shifted slightly in surprised. Tenten smirked, satisfied.

"Good day," Tenten said, and continued down the street. 

* * *

Tenten arrived at her destination a half hour later. The neighborhood looked very much like the one where her business resided—brick houses, sporadic garden walls, gray and cobblestone streets. At an intersection, she took a left into a small alley between two houses and walked in the near-darkness towards the back. At the rear of the alley, it opened again to reveal a small back garden, overgrown with weeds. Birds littered the ground, pecking at seed, thrown out by a single observer, sitting on a stone bench in the corner.

"Hello," Tenten greeted, joining the man on the bench.

The man next to her nodded pleasantly, but did not reply, content on continuing to study the birds.

Tenten exhaled and patiently waited, watching with him. Like every week she visited, the man led with a proverb.

"Tenten," he started in his kind voice, "birds teach us so much about life. They don't despair about eating or building a home. Their livelihood is freely given to them. All they have to do is go and retrieve it."

Tenten nodded, trying to sift out his meaning. Eventually she said, somewhat dismissively, "Money does not grow like grass, Guy."

He shrugged, smiling.

"No, but if you water something enough it will grow," he mused.

Tenten didn't reply, studying him. His once shiny black hair had grayed considerably in the past few months, making him appear much older than his fifty odd years. His skin looked sallow; his face thin.

"Are you eating enough?" she asked, a note of concern in her voice.

Guy waved this away, unbothered. "I'm not hungry most days. A result of my illness, or so the doctors tell me. But enough about that. Tell me about how you've been spending your days."

Tenten sighed. "Well, I finally found out who keeps sending all of those appraisers."

Guy glanced at her in interest, his bushy eyebrows raised. "Oh?"

"Do you know anything about the Hyuga Group?"

Guy's eyebrows raised a fraction. " _They're_ the ones who keep bothering you?"

"Yes," Tenten answered, studying his expression. "What do you know about them? The only thing I know is that they married off their daughter to the Nara's, and that they're extremely wealthy."

Guy turned his head and coughed, shaking out the handkerchief that had been balled in his fist. From the open door behind them, a nurse stuck her head out. Tenten waved her off.

Tenten placed a hand on his shoulder as he coughed, his whole body shaking. After a moment, Guy subsided, sighing with exhaustion. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he looked even more pale than he had a moment before.

"There's no way they're treating you right here," Tenten muttered under her breath.

Guy gave her a weak smile. "My dear," he said weakly, "there's nothing more they _can_ do."

"I don't believe that," Tenten replied, softening. "Guy, I read in the paper that being outdoors more could help. There have been several cases upstate—"

Guy dismissed this with a shake of his head. "I'm doing fine here, Tenten. I don't need to be carted off upstate to some pricy prison to deal with the same outcome."

Tenten flinched but let it go. She did not want to talk about death today.

"So, the Hyuga?" she prompted.

"I would not be surprised if they didn't own half the city," Guy said. "They are a very powerful family."

"But why do they want my business?" Tenten asked. "They have all of the others on the street, in one way or another."

"I think their purpose is very clear, Tenten. They want to get rid of you."

Tenten rolled her eyes. "I know that much. But I've told them no a dozen times already. No amount would be enough to make me give it over to them."

"You misunderstand me. They do not want your business because of your property. They want to get rid of _you_."

Tenten blinked, her forehead creasing in thought. "You're talking about the recent arrests at that bawdy house on Lotus Street?"

Guy gazed at her knowingly. "Who do you think sent the police there in the first place?" Guy covered his mouth and coughed again. When he caught his breath again, he rasped, "Hiashi Hyuga has always wielded his influence in a way that supports his ideals. Take his daughter's marriage, for instance. Who would have thought a powerful and traditional family like the Hyuga would be united to the Nara's—a progressive group of lawyers and politicians? They don't share the same political goals; the Hyuga are notoriously conservative. No, it was a tactician's move."

Tenten mulled this over, but still failed to see what the point would be. Aloud she said, "But my business is nothing like all of those other bawdy houses."

Guy shrugged. "I do not think that matters to the Hyuga. You should be very careful in dealing with them, Tenten."

Tenten shot Guy a sharp look. "They cannot shut me down. I'm not doing anything illegal!"

"Perhaps not yet," Guy said gently, looking to the open door of the hospital.

Tenten pressed her lips together, seething. Guy met her eyes and smiled.

"Don't be angry with an old man. I am just offering perspective."

"I'm not angry with you," Tenten replied roughly. She took a breath to suppress her mounting inward panic. "Are you tired? Do you want to go in?"

"Yes. I think I should lie down."

Tenten helped Guy to his feet and led him to the door. The nurse reappeared and nodded to her, taking Guy's hand, and leading him deeper into the hospital. Tenten stood on the threshold, disquieted—by Guy's frailness, by his opinion on the Hyuga, by the tiresome appraisers. Guy looked over his shoulder and called weakly, "Remember to water the grass so it will grow."

Tenten nodded, wondering, as Guy was led to the dark sickly rooms beyond her sight. 

* * *

Her errands took up most of her day. When Tenten finally came in view of the familiar brick building that was her home and business, she was both surprised and annoyed to see the gentleman from earlier, clearly waiting for her. He was wearing a scowl that deepened when he caught her eye.

Bewildered, Tenten arrived at the bottom of the steps and asked, "Have you been waiting for me all this time?" She had left late-morning, and it was now well into the afternoon.

"I told you I had business to discuss with you," he said.

Tenten's eyes narrowed. "I never said I was the mistress of this house."

The man almost smirked; this only served to expand Tenten's dislike. "You didn't need to. Your assistant told me who you were."

Silently, Tenten cursed Moegi. She would need to remind her of all the lessons on discretion she had coached the young girl through.

Tenten stared up at him and schooled her features into disinterest. "Like I said before, I don't discuss business with anyone without an appointment."

"Fine," he said shortly, barely keeping the irritation from his voice. "How do I make an appointment?"

Tenten could hardly contain her impishness as she said, "I only accept appointments at half past seven in the morning, on the last day of the month. You can leave your name with my assistant."

Tenten ascended the stairs, intending to brush past him once more. The man stared at her flatly, before glancing down at his pocket watch. When she drew up beside him, he said, "Surely you have time now. It's already six."

Tenten set her hand on the door to push it open, but the man moved in front of her, blocking her way. His jaw was set, and Tenten was struck at how striking a figure he made up close.

She said unfeelingly, "First you practically assault me leaving my own home, and now you're attempting to bar me from entering it?"

"I've made myself clear. I want to speak with you. If that means keeping you out here all night, I have no reservations in doing so."

Tenten rolled her eyes. "And you think yourself a gentleman?" she snapped.

Coldly, he replied, "And you call yourself a madame?"

Tenten had an urge to slap him, but before she could raise her hand, the door suddenly opened to them. Moegi, wide-eyed, stood in the entryway, peering at them.

"Madame! You're back! Mr.—"

"Moegi, how could you let this stranger stand here all day waiting for me?" Tenten demanded, looking at the girl fiercely.

Moegi's mouth opened in disbelief. She slowly shook her head as she answered, "M—madame, I'm s—sorry! He said he wanted to sp—speak with you. He said it was important!"

"He hasn't made an appointment," Tenten said sharply.

Moegi's eyes shined with slowly gathering tears. She bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Madame."

Tenten turned her glare to the man. "Please leave," she said.

"No," he answered evenly.

"Madame," Moegi whispered carefully, "this is Mr. Hyuga."

Tenten's cheeks instantly reddened, and she looked at Moegi quickly. The girl's eyes were downcast, her own face splotchy in embarrassment. Tenten bit the inside of her cheek. The man stared back at Tenten, expressionless.

"Show him inside to my office, please, Moegi," Tenten muttered.

Moegi nodded quickly and stepped back to let him pass, saying in a rushed breath, "This way, sir."

Tenten watched them disappear off the landing, feeling idiotic.

Over her shoulder, Tenten heard footsteps and loud, rowdy voices. She stepped over the threshold and was pleased to see the front room was all set and ready for the evening's guests. Moegi was already returning from the hall, her face sheepish; she would not meet Tenten's eyes.

Tenten caught the girl by the shoulder. "I'm sorry for being cross with you," Tenten said. "Now, put it out of your mind; we have guests that will arrive in a moment."

"Yes, ma'am."

Moegi easily broke free and set off to rouse the girls to crowd the sitting room. Tenten uneasily called after her, "We will talk about this tomorrow. And Moegi—please don't let anyone know that he is here. Not even the girls. Not even Ayame."

Moegi met Tenten's eyes, a question in her furrowed brow, but she nodded and set out to finish her tasks.

Tenten steeled herself, recalling what Guy had cautioned, and walked down the hall to her office. The door was partially ajar—when she pushed it open, she saw him standing before the fire. He made the room seem smaller.

She entered and let the door drift closed behind her. He looked up and met her gaze.

"I wished for all of these months that the Hyuga would just come and speak with me themselves, and when you do finally come, I treat you with only disrespect. I'm embarrassed," Tenten said sincerely.

The man easily waved this away, as if her apologies were also beneath his notice. "Madame, we did not speak with each other fairly this morning. I'm hopeful we can begin again."

Tenten nodded and gestured to the chairs. "Will you please sit?"

He walked past her, accidentally brushing her arm. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he said, standing before her desk.

Tenten took her seat behind the desk and looked at him expectantly. "Please sit, I insist."

He shook his head. "I would prefer to stand."

Tenten sighed. "Alright. Mr. Hyuga, your family has sent so many people here in the last few months. Why choose now to come? Surely you realize my answer will not be any different."

"My uncle decided that perhaps a personal approach would be more effective. Intermediaries can only be so successful."

Tenten cocked her head in thought. "Your uncle?" she asked. "If he's so set on this property, why didn't he come himself? To use your own term, aren't you still an intermediary?"

"My uncle would never deign to come here—he's the most powerful man in this entire city."

Tenten's mouth tightened, her irritation resurfacing. "Powerful men come in and out of this house all night. That's not an excuse. Besides, you could say I'm the most powerful woman in this city. So, why should I deal with you?"

The vein in his temple twitched, but he ignored her question. "I'm here to negotiate with you, Madame. Not play games."

Tenten scoffed and said seriously, "Trust me, Mr. Hyuga, I'm not in the least interested in playing games."

"Really? Isn't that what you were doing this morning when you attempted to get rid of me?"

"I didn't know who you were," Tenten said, frowning.

"Then you often resort to trickery with strangers who seek audiences with you? Very professional."

"What do you want?" Tenten demanded. "I've declined this offer thousands of times. What don't you Hyuga understand about the word 'no'!"

The man leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. His eyes flashed as he stared at Tenten. "It does not matter to us how much it costs. We _will_ come to an agreement or there will be consequences—for you and your . . . employees."

Tenten raised her eyebrows. "Are you really daring to threaten me?"

He shook his head. "I'm not threatening you. I'm telling you what is going to happen if you continue this charade."

Tenten stood from her chair, feeling more in control that they were now eye-level.

Hyuga continued, his eyes blazing with purpose, "You won't get rid of me. I can guarantee that."

Tenten smirked. "I think you underestimate my resourcefulness."

There was a small knock on the door, and Moegi entered with a small tray carrying refreshments. She glanced at them and her face flushed, hurriedly looking away. "Excuse me," she said, disappearing from the room as quickly as she'd entered.

Tenten, immediately becoming mindful, stepped back and sat down in her chair. In the heat of their argument, they had grown dangerously close. An embarrassed blush crept up her neck. She reached for a glass of water that Moegi had set down on the desk and drank thirstily.

The man cleared his throat again, straightening to his full height; Tenten was unsure if he had even noticed their improper closeness.

After a weighty pause, Tenten spoke, her lips pursed in a small smile, "We seem destined to disagree with each other, Mr. Hyuga."

"Madame, I've negotiated many of my uncle's business dealings. I've never met anyone so fiercely contrary."

Tenten mulled this over, taking another sip from her glass. "And how many women have you negotiated a business dealing with?"

He regarded her, and Tenten had the distinct feeling that she was being weighed and measured. "None," he replied.

Tenten smiled smugly. "Then I will take that as a compliment, rather than an insult." She paused, checking the time, before continuing, "I'll give you a chance to convince me, Mr. Hyuga. But it can wait until later this week. Come by sometime in the morning; I'll speak with you then."

"I have your word you won't attempt to turn me away again?" he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I promise," Tenten assured. "I'm sure you'll find out very soon that I never agree to anything I won't deliver on."

He held out his hand and Tenten reciprocated, consenting to a gentle handshake. Their eyes met, and Tenten pulled back, feeling a blush rise on her cheeks.

"Moegi will show you out," Tenten said, gesturing to the door.

At her name, Moegi opened the door and beckoned. They disappeared down the hall, and Tenten sank down into her office chair, exhausted. She pressed her hands to her cheeks and shook her head.

"Make the grass grow," she scoffed. "There's no watering this grass, Guy. It's already lost."

-o-

Hinata looked up as the door opened, her hands stilling over her needlework. She relaxed when she saw it was Neji.

"I wasn't expecting to see you today, since Father gave you such an important task," she said, returning to threading her needle as her cousin sat down across from her.

When Neji didn't answer right away, Hinata snuck a glance at him. Her cousin's face was drawn, his eyes dull.

"What happened to you?" Hinata asked.

Neji shook his head slightly and ran a hand over his face. "She was not what I expected," he finally said.

"Who?"

"The madame of the bawdy house on Leaves Street," sighed Neji.

Hinata's eyebrows rose a fraction. "Why is she not what you expected?"

Hinata watched as her cousin crossed his legs and looked out her parlor window, into the garden behind the house. He seemed lost in thought.

After a moment, Neji said, "For one, she is years younger than I expected her to be. It's not my place to guess a woman's age, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's the same age as me, or you, for that matter. She also did not cease to argue with me from the moment that we met."

Hinata looked at her cousin curiously. "She argued with you?"

"Incessantly," Neji said, looking back to his cousin. "I don't think I've ever had words with someone so quickly after meeting them."

Hinata tapped her needlework thoughtfully on her lap. "Well," she said finally, "maybe your approach was misguided. How did you introduce yourself?"

"I didn't."

Hinata stared at her cousin in mild disbelief. "You didn't introduce yourself to her?"

"Her assistant told her who I was," Neji answered. "Eventually."

"What does that mean, 'eventually'?" Hinata asked.

Neji sighed and quickly recounted the entire day to his cousin, not missing her visible winces. When he finished, Hinata's expression was decidedly disapproving.

"Neji, how could you? You know better than to speak that way to a woman," she chided.

"Hinata, she's not a—!"

"Not a woman?" Hinata interjected softly. She shook her head and treated Neji to a rare and cutting stare. "Neji, you have been raised to respect and show regard to women your whole life. This woman's profession should not change the way you treat her."

"Hinata, this isn't a party. Uncle expects me to buy this property. I'm not going to handle this any differently than how I would handle my other business negotiations."

Hinata primly took up her needlework again, her lips pursed. "Neji, if you continue to pursue this the way that you did today, I can promise you that you will be as successful as all the other men Father sent to handle this."

Hinata turned her eyes to studying her embroidery. Rows and rows of barely budded white roses, tinier than her own thumbnail, flowed across the collar.

"I trust your advice, cousin," Neji finally sighed.

Hinata glanced at him. "If she's as formidable as you say," Hinata said slowly, "then it would do you well to show more care than you normally would."

Neji's eyes flashed for a moment. "Not this old critique."

She shrugged. "I'm only recalling what's been said in the past. You've never taken it at hand before, perhaps this time you should."

Neji stood from his chair and walked to the door, shaking his head. "I'm not that unpleasant, am I, cousin?"

Hinata smiled politely. "Of course not, Neji. At least, not with me." Hinata wisely said nothing more, but let her meaning hang in the air.

He smirked and slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Hinata sighed and held up the embroidery, wondering if the roses would be too much if it happened to be meant for a boy. Her fingers fluttered over the tiny embroidered rosebuds and drifted down the small, baby-sized sleeves, lost in her imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of research notes:  
> 1) Sack coats are a kind of loose-fitting men's jacket worn during the 19th and 20th centuries.  
> 2) Handshakes in the 19th century were strict, etiquette-wise. Men were expected to wait for the woman to extend her hand first before shaking hands. Read into that what you will.  
> 3) Just a note about the embroidery Hinata is working on: it is a type of whitework called "broderie anglaise". Whitework is white embroidery on white cloth. Broderie anglaise is a type of whitework that is done for baby clothes, among other domestic linens.
> 
> See you next time!


	3. Chapter Three

Hinata's back arched as she pulled Shikamaru closer, her fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. He let out a small curse, and Hinata bit her lip but kept her eyes closed. Had she pressed too hard? She had thought it would express her desire, but she hadn't considered injuring him. She smoothed her hands against his shoulders and tried massaging away the marks she had left.

Shikamaru, above her, kept his rhythm, his hands fisted in the sheets next to Hinata's head. Hinata maintained her schooled expression of pleasure, though she was gritting her teeth as his body banged into hers over and over. She listened carefully to his breathing—his breathing always told her when he was on the brink of release. She considered turning her head to press her lips to his fingers but decided against it—she did not want to distract him from his goal. Shikamaru shifted, his breath growing laborious. Hinata told herself to relax her body, to make a wish. Finally, at the height of her discomfort and when she was wondering if she should say something, Shikamaru sighed in relief.

Hinata felt the rush of hot liquid enter her body, and she lay back onto the pillows, hoping.

Shikamaru rolled off her and onto his feet, casting her an impassive glance.

"Thank you," Hinata whispered, her words barely audible.

Shikamaru nodded once and turned his back to her. Hinata could see she had left bright red marks across his shoulders. She blushed in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," she said, sitting up carefully.

Shikamaru did not reply. He slowly put his suit back on to go back to the office—he had an important bill that was requiring much of his attention lately. Hinata looked at the curtained window. Through a small gap, she could see a bright sliver of sunlight. It must be getting on toward noon.

"Thank you for coming home," Hinata said. "I'm very grateful."

Shikamaru faced her, fastening the last button on his coat. "You're welcome," he said tonelessly. "I won't be back until late tonight. I have a lot of work to do."

He strode to the door and nodded at her before slipping out, closing the door softly behind him.

Hinata relaxed slightly into the pillows and brushed her hand against her stomach. She closed her eyes, wondering if this time would be it, if it would finally be enough.

* * *

For her entire life, Hinata had fluctuated between two people: her mother and her father. Her situation was not unique; most firstborn children were trying to emulate one or both of their parents. But Hinata was different in that she did this consciously.

One of her earliest memories was of her parents arguing in the back garden, close to where Hinata's nurse would take her to view butterflies. Distinctly, Hinata could recall the sharp firmness of her father's voice, his convincing and convicting tone. Her mother, however, had issued soft replies, her inflection lilting and unconcerned. Hinata had no understanding of what they were arguing over back then, though since that day she'd come to believe they were arguing over her mother's secret pregnancy of Hinata's younger sister, Hanabi.

For some reason unbeknownst to the child Hinata, this sharp contrast between her parents was fascinating. She determined to study them closely every chance she got.

Her mother was not always kind, just as her father was not always stern. Perhaps this was why Hinata was obsessed with watching them—none of their actions or words were consistent to the next.

As she grew older, Hinata began to understand context, nuance, grudges, family history. By the time she was sixteen, she felt she understood her parents, and to some extent, her entire family, completely. Which is why she swore to herself that she would never let herself be swayed by them.

* * *

A knock on her bedroom door pulled Hinata from her reverie. She reached for her robe and covered herself.

"Yes?" she called out, pushing herself into a sitting position.

A maid entered, her brow arched disapprovingly. "Ma'am, your father is here to see you."

Hinata nodded, and the maid slipped out, closing the door again for privacy.

Hinata re-dressed slowly. She refused any maid's help in dressing—they stared too much, and besides, they weren't the maids she had grown up with in her house. Every servant in her home belonged to her husband, and Hinata was not one to interfere with loyalty.

She found her father in the parlor, being served tea by the butler.

"Good afternoon," her father greeted impassively. "Where is Shikamaru? I wanted to speak with him."

Hinata settled herself in an armchair, sighing. The butler proffered her a teacup, which she accepted gratefully.

"He's not here. He had a bill to attend to."

Her father frowned, but only slightly. "No matter. I will pay a visit to his office."

Hinata sipped her tea and briefly closed her eyes, quietly attempting to dispel her annoyance. "Was seeing Shikamaru your lone reason for stopping by?"

"No. I wanted to tell you that I've taken the liberty of reaching out to the midwifery school to procure you a doctor. I figured you would be appreciative for a fellow woman's perspective."

Hinata glanced up at her father, touched by her father's uncharacteristic sensitivity.

"Thank you," she said, meaning it.

"After you've consulted with the midwife, if nothing comes of it, I think we will have to take different measures."

Hinata swallowed, her irritation resurfacing. "And what measures are you referring to?"

But Hiashi was already tired of the topic, his tea drained and placed on the side table.

"No point in discussing it now. We'll see if the midwife is able to help." Hiashi shifted in his chair to view his daughter appraisingly. "I wanted to speak with you about another matter."

Hinata smoothed her hands on her skirts, expectant. "Yes?"

"You know I've tasked Neji with working out a deal for the bawdy house on Leaves Street. But I'm curious about Shikamaru's bill that he's preparing. I know it has to do with the public health."

Hinata's forehead furrowed. "What are you asking me for, Father?"

"I want to know what's in Shikamaru's bill. Does he speak on it with you?"

Hinata shook her head. "I don't ask Shikamaru about his work."

Her father's displeasure was clear on his face. "Foolish girl. Have I taught you nothing? Those who know nothing cannot demand anything."

"Father, you know I'm not a strategist. I leave that to you and Neji," Hinata responded tiredly.

Hiashi sat back in his chair, mouth tight. "This isn't just our game, Hinata. This isn't only about you."

"You and Neji are the ones who make plans."

Hiashi shook his head. "You still have a part to play. Shikamaru is vital to us getting what we want."

"Then ask Shikamaru for your information," Hinata replied testily.

"You're his wife, Hinata. It is your duty to ingratiate yourself so thoroughly into his life that he can't function without you."

Hinata could tell her father meant this as instructional, but it still hurt her feelings. She stared down at her lap, stung.

"Additionally, it is your duty to obey your father, as any good daughter should."

Hinata wondered how many times her father had had this conversation with her mother, only framed with different words.

"I'll be off, then," he said, standing to leave. He did not wait to be escorted out from the butler but left the house as if it were his own.

Hinata quietly finished her tea, wondering what constituted a good daughter or a good wife and pondering if she could be either.

-o-

Tenten frowned, unfriendly, at the man sitting across from her. He didn't seem to notice as he pored over her book of expenses, irking her further. Even his face—pointed, pale, patronizing—made her heart beat faster in frustration.

Finally, he glanced up, his eyebrows slightly raised. "Yes?"

Tenten shook her head.

"I can only assume by staring that you wish to ask a question."

Snippily, Tenten said, "Are you checking all of my math?"

"Do you not trust your own calculations?"

"I do," Tenten returned solidly.

"Then why would my checking them matter?"

"Are you always this insufferable?" No wonder you're unmarried," Tenten muttered, not quite under her breath.

Neji Hyuga fixed her with a glare but made no reply. He tossed her accounting tome back onto her desk.

"Where is your alcohol license?"

Holding his gaze, Tenten pulled out a draw and withdrew a sheaf of paper, handing it over to him. He cast a quick glance over the document.

"You won't succeed this way," she said disinterestedly.

"You're mistaken," he remarked. "I'm not trying to succeed in any particular way."

"So, you have no strategy for attaining my business and turning out nearly twenty women onto the street?"

"They seem acquainted with that position, so I doubt it would make much difference to them."

Tenten stared at him openly, greatly offended. A small smirk played across his mouth.

Tenten knew she should stop herself—she'd already argued with this man at their previous meeting. What worth would she find in yelling at him again? But she couldn't let his comments go without comment—they grated against her ego.

With a measured breath, she said, "You're clearly not very knowledgeable about my business, Mr. Hyuga—an amateur's mistake."

"Then educate me," he challenged, smug.

"Let me guess, you think this is a bawdy house, filled with licentiousness and depravity," Tenten quipped. "But you would be wrong. This is the finest house of pleasure in this entire city. We offer our customers not only libation, but intelligent conversation, and if they want it, yes, companionship. But you insult me by insinuating that this business—these women—are nothing more than a man's plaything."

"Isn't that the main purpose of this house, the way you make your money?" he shot back. "It's all etched here in your record book, by your hand—which girl sleeps with which customer, how much he pays—"

"How else would I document proper payment to my employees, and how much they are owed?"

"This is a den of immorality," he went on, unfazed. "Causing men to be unfaithful to their wives—"

Tenten's expression was like thunder. "Rest assured, Mr. Hyuga, no man who walks through our doors is ever forced into bed. They go willingly. And my employees oblige."

"You engender girls to lead a life of wickedness." His voice was coldly quiet, but stingingly loud at the same time. "What's disgusting is that you keep around girls who could still have a chance at marriage, but you continue to ruin their reputation."

"What do you think of these women, Mr. Hyuga? That I'm holding them here against their will?" Tenten chortled aloofly. "You understand nothing about this city and how it works."

"Then educate me," he said again, his eyes blazing with ire.

Rapidly, Tenten spat, "All of these women, save Moegi, have been working here since before I inherited the building from the previous owner. All of them are either orphans or runaways or so poor that if they didn't work here, they'd be dead by now. Every single one of them did not want this life—but when does life ever give women what they want? And you know what, Mr. Hyuga? They make more money than any other woman with a job in this city, because yes, they're good at what they do. They're intelligent and funny and people _like_ them. They're charming, which is more than I could say for you. It's society that has betrayed them, not the other way around. They could leave whenever they wanted to, and they know it. But they don't want to—because I take care of them, and they take care of each other. We're a family.

"As to your charge about luring men away from their wives—you're embarrassingly naïve. Our customers don't all come here for sex. Some are widows and they're lonely. Some used to have daughters that they miss talking to. Most of them are single men, who want a good laugh. To debase my business to only a bawdy house, as you so eloquently put earlier, is insulting—we provide so much more than that: Care, excitement, diversion. Did you realize by looking at my accounts? We're supporting this city's economy—alcohol, food, clothing—it's all being bought with the money that's made here, doing 'wicked' work, as you say."

Tenten had stood sometime during her speech. Her cheeks were flushed in anger as she stared down at him.

Neji Hyuga was perfectly still, but Tenten could not decipher his expression. A knock came on the closed office door, and they both jumped as Moegi stuck her head in.

"Madame, are you alright? I heard shouting. . ." Moegi trailed off, flushing as she looked between her mistress and the visitor.

Before Tenten could answer, he said, "Moegi, how did you come to live here?"

Tenten turned to him, eyes flashing. "You will not question her without her permission," she said, grinding her teeth.

He ignored her, looking calmly at Moegi. "She's free not to answer," he stated softly.

Moegi glanced at Tenten, uncertain. Tenten shrugged, her shoulders tense.

"If it's okay with Madame, I will answer," Moegi said slowly, briefly meeting his eyes. "My parents died a few years ago. I didn't have anywhere to go—all my relatives live very far away, and they weren't enthusiastic to have an extra mouth to feed. I came here because I'd heard that they take in girls who have nowhere else to go. When Madame met me, she told me I wouldn't serve any of the gentlemen, even though I told her I'd be willing. She made me her apprentice."

Moegi darted a look at Tenten, to see if her answer was acceptable, and Tenten gave a small nod.

Neji Hyuga was quiet for a moment before saying, "Thank you, Moegi."

"Madame?" Moegi asked, silently asking if she should leave.

"We'll be done in a moment," Tenten said, waving the girl out.

Moegi nodded and slipped out of the office, leaving the door cracked a sliver.

"She's very devoted to you," he commented, lifting his eyes to meet Tenten's.

"She's a good girl," Tenten responded, attempting to sift through the layers of expression on his features.

He raised his eyebrows a fraction—curiously, Tenten thought. "You care for all of them like that?"

"Yes. I'd do anything for them," Tenten said without hesitation.

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, respectively weighing the other's countenance.

"You're very hard to read," Tenten finally released, her neck prickling.

Neji Hyuga regarded her. "In contrast, you're very easy to read," he replied. "Perhaps that's due to your temper."

"Mr. Hyuga, a compliment is highly unnecessary," Tenten said sarcastically.

His expression slightly shifted to one of mild surprise. His lips formed the smallest of smiles, and for once, Tenten found no trace of mockery in it.

"I'm sure you would be very amusing, if not so infuriating," he said, standing to leave.

"Mr. Hyuga, you're making me blush," Tenten deadpanned with a roll of her eyes. "I'll escort you out."

They walked down the hall. When they passed the parlor, Hyuga took a cursory glance around. Almost begrudgingly, he said to her, "It is a lovely building. All the appraisers said so when they came with their reports."

Tenten looked around fondly, at the couches and artwork and fashionable wallpaper, which she'd had redone only the year before.

Bitterly, she said, "It's worth far more than anything you could ever offer."

He gazed at her, his expression impenetrable. After a brief pause, he replied, with some obvious restraint, "I'll do my best to offer you close to what it's worth. No matter the cost."

Tenten met his eyes and raised an eyebrow in challenge, but she faltered—he seemed serious. Tenten felt something move between them. But a moment later, she discredited what she'd felt intuitively—Neji Hyuga could not be taken at face value.

They shook hands amicably, albeit stiffly, and Tenten let him out into the alleyway.

"Until our next meeting," he cast over his shoulder.

Tenten did not respond. She watched him exit onto the high street and disappear.

-o-

Sakura glanced down again at the address scrawled across the slip of paper the matron of the midwifery school had pushed into her hands that morning.

The stately house before her was imposing, not just because of its sprawling size, but for its delicate age. The neighborhood had seemed new when Sakura had strolled through moments ago, but now she realized that the structure in front of her clearly outdated all the homes on this block.

Anxious to answer her curiosity, Sakura approached the front door and raised the antlered knocker. There was a moment's pause, and then the door swung open, an imposing butler looking upon her.

"Yes?" he asked coldly.

"I'm here to see the lady of the house," Sakura said uncertainly.

The butler's eyes narrowed. "What is your business with her?"

"I'm a doctor, from the midwifery. I was sent here by the matron—"

"Who sent you?" came a small, kind voice from the foyer.

The butler shifted to reveal a tiny woman with dark hair and large, kind eyes. She looked at Sakura inquisitively, as if she were reserving judgment.

"I'm sorry, madam—The matron at the midwifery school gave me this address and told me to come. I assumed you requested—"

The dark-haired woman shook her head, a small smirk in the corner of her mouth. "My father," she muttered, though she did not seem ashamed to admit it aloud in the presence of her butler and a stranger.

Sakura paused, wondering on what to say, if anything.

"You said you're a doctor?" addressed the woman.

"Yes."

"Not a midwife?"

Sakura straightened under the woman's scrutiny. "No, ma'am. I have a medical degree from a reputable college."

For once, Sakura did not receive a doubtful glance. Her esteem of the woman rose.

"How many babies have you delivered?" asked the woman.

Sakura did not miss the small glance the butler cast to his employer. "A few," Sakura answered. "I've spent most of my time treating adult illnesses, but I'm familiar with births."

She watched Sakura carefully for a moment before nodding slightly and gesturing with a pale hand for her to enter. "Please come in."

Sakura smiled and brushed past the butler, following the woman into an immaculately decorated parlor. As they sat across from each other, the woman introduced herself, "My name is Mrs. Hinata Nara. My father is the one who arranged for you to visit me."

Sakura schooled her expression into indifference, but not before Mrs. Nara caught her grimace. She smiled politely.

"Yes. It seems an interesting situation, doesn't it?" Mrs. Nara asked gently.

"I don't want to impose," Sakura said. "The matron simply gave me this address and bade me to attend to it."

"I wouldn't expect my father to leave his name, though he's well-known for his imposing figure," said Mrs. Nara. "You see, I've been trying to have children, and as of yet, I've been woefully unsuccessful."

Sakura's heart clenched in sympathy at Mrs. Nara's tone.

"I've tried everything," she continued. "The foods, the superstitions. . . My husband is annoyed to death over my desperate measures."

Sakura was already reaching for the notebook in her doctor's bag. "How often are you and your husband having intercourse?" Sakura inquired, setting her pencil to a clean page.

"Every day, or every other day," Mrs. Nara replied. "Though we can go days without—he's a politician and keeps an irregular schedule."

"Does he emit each time?"

"Yes."

"Are you unusually active in your day-to-day life?"

"No. I don't want to ruin my chances."

Sakura glanced up at her, struck again by the undercurrent of sadness in the woman's voice. Sakura closed her notebook and clasped her hands.

"Mrs. Nara, don't worry. Women are specially designed to have children. I'm sure your time will arrive, when you least expect it. And I'll help you in any way that I can until then."

The woman nodded sadly. "Thank you. And please, call me Hinata."

Sakura smiled back and rejoined, "Sakura."

"Sakura," said Hinata with a pleased smile. "You're the first person who I've spoken with this about in such a free manner. I'm indebted to you."

"How long have you been married, if you don't mind my asking?" Sakura asked.

"A little over two years," Hinata said. She absently plucked at a loose thread from the couch cushion. "Are you married?"

"No, ma'am."

"You must be very wise," Hinata pronounced, the skin around her eyes crinkled in silent but good-natured laughter.

"No—just very single-minded. I have an uncanny habit of not letting go of something until I've achieved it."

Hinata raised her eyebrows at Sakura, who felt a subtle shift in the air between them. Her skin prickled with an unknown presentiment.

Softly, Hinata replied, "You and I are alike, in that regard."

-o-

Ino loved the sensation of swollen lips. It made her feel blustery and wild and savage. Truly, her mouth was one of her best assets—it's why she ended up garnering more guests, and therefore, more tips, from all her gentleman callers.

However, most of Ino's customers could not make the distinction between swelling from pleasure and outright bruising.

Bodily, Ino was flipped onto her stomach, her customer's sweaty palms settling on the sloped skin of her ass. He swatted her behind several times; Ino winced. Seemingly about to ejaculate, he grunted, moving quickly against her. Ino clenched her fists and waited.

Finally, seconds later, he stiffened behind her and his breathing slowed, gripping both of her ass cheeks in his hands. He sighed and withdrew, stumbling from the bed to his pile of clothes on the floor.

"Good as ever, Miss," he said after he'd pulled on his trousers.

Ino smiled politely and shrugged on her robe, guiding him to the door. "It was a pleasure, as always, Commissioner. Please help yourself to some wine in the sitting room."

The commissioner winked at her and placed a few crumpled bills in her hand. "I know why Madame charges so much for you. Worth every penny."

Ino nodded, her expression demure as she ushered him out of the room. Once he was ambling back to the sitting room for his promised beverage, Ino shut the door and sighed, indiscriminately wiping away the sticky discharge from between her legs.

She walked over to the mirror set on top of a bookshelf and smoothed her hair. She glanced at the newspaper on the mantel she'd been reading before her client had come in. At the bottom, under a small column, was a paragraph detailing Shikamaru Nara's challenges in support over his latest bill.

As she was working out a tangle with her fingers, the door opened behind her. Ino turned and smiled broadly, unable to disguise her excitement.

"Fancy meeting you here," she greeted, studying him.

He shut the door behind him and gave her a small smile. "They told me you were busy."

Ino shrugged and gestured to the empty room. "I'm never too busy for you."

"That's a relief," he said. He walked over to her, and Ino embraced him, studying his face. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he looked paler than usual.

"Are you sleeping?" she asked, lightly pressing her fingertips to his cheeks. "You look tired."

Shikamaru closed his eyes and relaxed into her touch. "Late nights at the office. That's all," he sighed. "You know how much I hate working."

Ino smirked and held him, pressing her body against his as she breathed in his scent. He smoked almost constantly and had a very distinct smell (and taste) of tobacco that he was constantly attempting to cover up with mint.

"I can't stay long," he murmured into her neck.

Ino felt the weight in her stomach clench. "You always say that," she replied.

Nevertheless, Ino led him to the bed and sat him down, slowly massaging his shoulders. Shikamaru kept his eyes closed, his arms wrapped around her thighs as she kneaded the kinks in his neck and shoulders. As she spread her fingers over the tension in his body, Ino wondered, for the thousandth time, what it was about Shikamaru that drew Ino's attraction.

He wasn't a looker. Ino would never venture to say he was particularly handsome—everything about him was plain or average. He was barely an inch taller than she; his hair was coarse, and too long according to custom; he had a pale and blank face that rarely showed expression. In all honesty, it was his eyes that captured most people.

Ino sighed, remembering when she'd first met him two years ago, on the eve of his wedding to the Hyuga heiress.

* * *

_"Ino, you have a new customer."_

_Ino turned expectantly to the doorway to see Tenten. Ino raised her eyebrows in surprise—her boss was rarely around during "business hours", preferring to stay in her office or even go up to her attic bedroom to sleep._

_"Oh?" Ino inquired. She looked past Tenten into the hallway, but it was dim, and she couldn't make out the figure. They often kept the hall near-dark, for guests' discretion._

_Tenten glanced over her shoulder and gestured the guest forward. A man emerged, clothed warmly in a long winter coat and scarf. The brim of his hat hid his eyes completely. Ino sent a darting look to Tenten, feeling a growing concern—had this man even been vetted?_

_In answer to Ino's silent question, Tenten introduced, "This is Mr. Nara. He's in politics and wanted to enter privately. He came through the back entrance—which is the same way he will leave. He's asked for complete confidentiality. I'm sure that won't be a problem?"_

_Ino nodded carefully, turning her gaze back to the man. "Yes, madame. Sir, your coat?"_

_"Mr. Nara, please let me know if you aren't satisfied with your service," Tenten said in parting, closing the door behind her as she slipped out, glancing meaningfully at Ino._

_"Your coat?" Ino repeated, holding her hands out. Her approach to new customers was always played delicately; much like making a new acquaintance, Ino always felt the first meeting was an audition. She wanted to be on her best behavior._

_After a stretched moment, Mr. Nara shrugged off his coat and handed it to her. Ino turned to fold it carefully, setting it gingerly on a small chair. When she turned back to him, she found him sitting on the corner of the bed, his hat balanced on his knee, and his dark eyes watching her. Ino stilled under his unwavering gaze._

_She attempted a smile and reached for his hat. "May I?"_

_He continued to stare and did not answer. Ino began wondering if she should just strip—perhaps that's what he was waiting for?—until finally he spoke._

_In a hoarse voice, he said plainly, "I'm getting married tomorrow."_

Ah _, Ino thought to herself._ It all makes sense now. _She had bedded a stream of nervous to-be-married young men in her years of work. They were often awkward at their first meeting, practically speechless, scared out of their minds. Ino knew exactly what to do in this situation._

_She smiled kindly and leaned towards him, on his eye level. "Sir, it's normal to be nervous ahead of such a big day. It's completely natural to want to get out your apprehensions about the wedding night—"_

_"You think I'm here to shed my maidenhood?" he asked, a humorless laugh in his mouth._

_Ino closed her mouth, which had fallen open at his question. Had she presumed too much? He was a politician after all._

_She stammered out, "Sir, I'm sorry if I assumed. Most men that come here the night before their wedding are feeling nervous about . . . performing well for their new wife."_

_He listened to her explanation without expression, regarding her seriously. It made Ino feel self-conscious._ _He sighed, casting a curious eye around the small room. "It's not that," he said dejectedly._

_Ino knew better than to speak again. She waited; her hands clasped in front of her._

_"What is your name?" he finally asked, his focus returning to her._

_"Ino," she answered._

_"Ino," Mr. Nara said. He said it as if he was rolling it in his mouth, tasting it for the first time. "Have you ever felt trapped, Ino?"_

_There were times when Ino had felt inconvenienced or annoyed at her circumstances—but trapped?_ _"No," she said with certainty._

_Mr. Nara looked at her, and Ino wondered—was he impressed by her?_

_"You're very lucky, then," he said, his lips pulling into a small smirk—though to Ino it looked closer to a grimace._

_"Sir," Ino said, her eyes flickering to the wall clock, "the longer you stay, the more you'll be charged."_

_Instead of answering, silently Mr. Nara withdrew a wad of bills from his pants pocket. He held it out, and Ino reluctantly took it. A quick glance told her he'd overpaid her three times more than her usual rate. Ino blushed, embarrassed._

_"Sir, this isn't—"_

_"I don't care about the money," he said sternly, waving his hand._

_Ino clutched it tightly in her fist, confused. "I don't understand," she said._

_"I don't want to get married," Mr. Nara sighed, seeming annoyed he had to state the obvious._

_"She can't be that bad," Ino said with a small smile._

_"It's not about her," Mr. Nara corrected. "I don't like being placed in a position with no options."_

_Ino was failing to see the problem. "Sir, you could break the engagement if you didn't want to marry her."_

_Mr. Nara regarded her; his lips pursed. Ino noted he had a very nice mouth. "Unfortunately, Ino, it's more complicated than that."_

_Ino didn't press him for details—his business was his own; besides, the customers didn't like nosy girls._

_"Do you want to get married?" he asked, peering up at her with those dark, searching eyes._

_Ino barely hesitated before she blurted out, "Yes. Someday."_

_He weighed her answer for a long moment, and then held out his hand to her. Ino relaxed, comfortable in this role that she'd played thousands of nights before. But instead of pulling her onto the bed, or grabbing her breast, as some were inclined to do, Mr. Nara took her hand and examined it, deep in thought. He lightly kissed her knuckles and glanced up to meet her eyes._

_"I hope you get your wish, one day."_

* * *

"What are you thinking about?"

Ino slowly emerged from the memory, as if she was wading through water. She glanced down to see Shikamaru gazing up at her, his eyes half-lidded and drowsy. His pupils were dilated, leaving only a thin rim of his beautifully ordinary brown irises.

Ino gave him a small smile.

"Just remembering the night we first met."

Shikamaru blinked but did not reply.

"Do you remember—?"

He nodded and moved his hands to push away her robe from her chest. His lips move across the skin of her stomach, up to the wide avenue between her breasts, and over to her right nipple, already stiff from his touch.

Ino inhaled deeply and pushed her fingers into his hair, pulling and pressing him closer as the sensation grew.

When Ino sensed that Shikamaru was growing restless, she released him from his trousers, slowly, catching his eye as she undressed him. Shikamaru's sleepy eyes were gone; they had become wild and filled with desire.

Ino leaned onto the bed and straddled him, smirking when Shikamaru bucked underneath her as she settled on his lap. She rocked a little, grinning as Shikamaru grasped her waist, her back, her thighs. She continued at varying speeds until finally, moments (or was it hours?) later they both stiffened in pleasure, and warmth spread between them.

Ino sighed and pulled Shikamaru on top of her, relishing the feeling of his body on hers, sticky with sweat.

Shikamaru pressed breathy kisses on Ino's neck. Ino closed her eyes in bliss, and it surprised them both when she opened her mouth and whispered, "Make me your mistress."

Shikamaru pulled away to look down at her. Ino opened her eyes, feeling confused and embarrassed at her omission. Shikamaru's expression was unreadable.

Ino paused, wondering if her reputation with Shikamaru would be damaged if she didn't apologize. Shikamaru paused for a breath and then nodded, leaning down to place more kisses along the hollow of Ino's throat.

Inwardly, Ino's mind was racing. She had never said something like that to a customer before. If Shikamaru told one of the other girls, or worse, Tenten, she would be in big trouble. The lines between the client and the girls was very defined—Tenten reminded them about it constantly.

"Put it out of your mind," Shikamaru said, touching her hands. Ino had been clenching them tightly. "I won't tell anyone."

Ino sighed, relaxing. She knew he wouldn't. How could she have doubted him?

Shikamaru's lips traveled the length of her, pausing in spots where Ino was particularly tender. He set his mouth against her and did not stop until Ino was writhing.

And then, they fit together again, clinging to one another as Shikamaru lost himself. He collapsed onto her, breathing heavily, his eyes shut tight.

Ino brushed his hair out of his face and grasped his clothes from the floor. Wordlessly, Shikamaru tugged on his clothes and turned to look Ino in the eye. He raised his eyebrows slightly at her expression. With a smirk, he reached out and touched her chin.

"You know what your problem is?" he said, amused. "You worry too much."

Grumpily, Ino pouted. "That's all you ever say about me. But your problem is that you don't worry enough."

Shikamaru chuckled. "And what should I be worried about?"

Ino gestured carelessly to the newspaper, abandoned on the mantle. "Your bill you're trying to get through legislature. You don't have enough support, you know."

Shikamaru shrugged this off, unconcerned. "If it doesn't go through, that's fine. But I'm sure it will."

Ino scoffed. "Are you so sure of yourself? The paper says you don't know what you're doing."

Shikamaru gazed at her levelly before shrugging again. "The newspaper is filled with rumors and gossip. I don't know why you read it so faithfully."

Ino frowned, her eyes narrowing. "Then tell me, are the rumors about your wife's childlessness true?"

Immediately, Ino knew she had made a mistake. They had spoken of _her_ before, but only in passing and never about anything significant. Ino felt her throat constrict in anxiety, but she refused to express regret. She had spoken her mind to Shikamaru all this time—her pride would not allow her to take it back.

Shikamaru stared at her for a long moment before sighing. He scratched the back of his head wearily.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're shameless?" he finally asked. He did not sound angry—only fatigued.

"That's not something many people say to a prostitute, no," Ino replied.

Shikamaru smirked and touched her cheek. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, lightly. "Mind your own business, Ino."

He pulled away and with a last passing glance, stepped out into the hallway.

Ino leaned her head against the bedrail, her lips puckered in dissatisfaction. Couldn't he have said something, anything, to communicate his feelings toward her? Even anger or frustration would have sufficed! But no, Shikamaru remained placid, even when she'd as good as insulted his wife!

Ino's skin felt chilly. She shrugged her robe back on and smoothed down her hair as she stepped into the hallway. She smiled her way through the sitting room where men sat being served beverages and conversing with girls and one another. Several of them caught her eye or reached out a hand to caress her arm. Ino sidestepped all of them, promising with her eyes that they would get their turn.

She slipped past the closed doors of the dining room and went straight to the sideboard. Lifting a bottle of wine from the rows of drinks, Ino uncorked it and pressed the bottle to her lips.

The dark red wine had a heavy taste, and Ino suddenly felt an insatiable thirst. She finished the contents in the bottle and set it down, her hands shaking slightly.

She swayed on her feet for a moment, her stomach churning unpleasantly. And then, the surge of bile came shooting up her throat. Ino clapped a hand over her mouth and ran to Ayame's small kitchen. She lurched over the deep porcelain sink and vomited back up the red wine, as well as the remains of her earlier dinner. Ino pressed her sweaty forehead to the edge of the sink, and sighed, saliva and chunks of vomit dripping past her parted lips.

Moments later, when she felt less dizzy, Ino staggered to her feet and peeked inside the sink. She let out an exasperated breath. Ayame was sure to yell at her for making such a mess.

"I'm no better than a child," Ino chastised herself, shaking her head.

A thought coiled itself around Ino's ear, insistently whispering. Ino's brow furrowed, her hand coming to rest on her stomach. And she knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter Four

Ino fled the dining room.

She swept past the guests in the parlor and stumbled into the hallway, her steps quick as she ran up the stairs to the second floor. Moegi was on the landing, her eyes wide.

“Ino, what’s wrong?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

“Where’s Tenten?” Ino gasped, pushing past the girl to continue to the staircase that led to Tenten’s attic bedroom.

“Upstairs,” Moegi called.

Ino rushed up the stairs and through Tenten’s bedroom door, breathless. Tenten was seated at a small writing desk crammed under the singular window. She looked over her shoulder at Ino’s loud entrance, her eyebrows raised.

“Ino, what is it?”

Ino stared at Tenten, fear mounting in her gut. Her chest felt tight. Uninhibited, her eyes began to well with tears.

Tenten got to her feet in alarm and strode over, gripping Ino’s arms. She asked urgently, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Ino crumpled into Tenten’s arms, sobbing. “I’m pregnant,” she wept, her face pressed into Tenten’s neck.

Tenten inhaled sharply at this news, caught off guard, but Ino couldn’t worry about that now. She could only think about Shikamaru and the roil of sickness in her belly and wondering what on earth she was going to do.

* * *

It took the better part of an hour for Tenten to persuade Ino to calm down enough to drink some tea. Moegi had been sworn to secrecy and was rushing up and down the two flights of stairs incessantly, running errands for Tenten.

It was late in the night. Tenten had returned to her desk, her face wan, as she considered Ino, laid out on Tenten’s bed.

“What are we going to do?” Ino bemoaned again.

Tenten winced, tired of the question. Earlier, Ino had needed her as a friend. But now, with the shock wearing off and reality quickly unfolding before her, Tenten would need to become Ino’s employer once more.

“We don’t know for sure yet if you’re pregnant, Ino. We need Sakura to make sure— _before_ we start making plans,” Tenten said wearily.

Ino shook her head. “I know I am. It all makes sense.”

Tenten sighed and said factually, “Well, naturally you have two options. Keep it or get rid of it.”

Ino leaned her head back on Tenten’s pillows. Tenten watched, eyes narrowed, as Ino smoothed her hands over her flat stomach.

Distantly, Ino replied, barely above a whisper, “It’s his, Tenten. I know it is.”

Tenten exhaled heavily, running a hand through her loose hair. “You don’t know that, Ino. You could never know that.”

Ino glared at her, blue eyes fierce.

Tenten stared back, not shying away. Quietly, she said, “Ino, he won’t leave his wife for you.”

Ino flinched as if she’d slapped her. “I would never ask him to,” she spat, cheeks glowing red.

“Wouldn’t you?” Tenten challenged. “I’ve told you time and again that you’re too attached to him.”

Ino said nothing, brushing tears from her eyes.

A knock resounded on the door. Tenten walked over and opened it, revealing Sakura and Moegi.

“Did something happen?” Sakura asked, sweeping into the room hurriedly. She covered the room swiftly to arrive at Ino’s side, her green eyes flitting over her form. “What’s wrong?”

Tenten shut the door behind Moegi and leaned against it, crossing her arms. “Ino believes she’s pregnant.”

Unfazed, Sakura hummed to herself, and spread her fingers over Ino’s abdomen, saying, “It would make sense—what with your recent sickness. Have you felt strange?”

Ino’s nose crinkled.

Sakura elaborated, “Do you feel butterflies in your stomach at all? Like a kind of fluttering?”

Ino shook her head. “I’ve only felt nauseous.”

Sakura seemed unconcerned by this, taking a step back. “Well, you could be pregnant. But we won’t know for sure until you experience quickening or begin to show.”

Tenten said from her position by the door, “How long will that be?”

Sakura shrugged. “Ino said her cycle has always been irregular, so I won’t be able to track it that way. If the sickness she’s feeling is pregnancy, she should feel the baby move within a few more weeks. Perhaps earlier.”

Ino mulled this over, looking down at her hands, folded in her lap. Moegi looked between the three women, her expression drawn.

Finally, Sakura asked, “Ino, if you are pregnant, will you be keeping the baby?”

Ino blanched, her face white. Tenten sighed again, tightening her grip on her arms. Ino glanced at her, a question in her raised brow.

“Ino, I would never throw you out,” Tenten said, answering her look. “But consider the consequences—I could never keep you. You’d have to find somewhere else to work—and how could you, taking care of a baby?”

Ino considered this, breathing deeply through her nose.

Tenten went on, “Society won’t support you, and I can only do so much. If you were found out, you’d go to jail.”

Ino laughed harshly. “We’re all headed to prison anyway, Tenten, from what the papers say,” Ino retorted hotly. “Who cares if it’s for prostitution or abortion?”

Sakura flushed, looking between the two. Hesitantly, she said, “Let’s wait and see. It could be something else.”

Tenten regarded Ino with a reserved expression. “I warned all of you to make different arrangements. The Hyuga Group is going to buy me out, or throw me in jail, or both. My time of protecting all of you is running out, and what do you expect me to do now? You should have taken more precautions.”

Ino’s face was bright red as she stared at her, speechless. In a tremulous voice, Ino asked, “The Hyuga are what?”

Tenten clenched her jaw, slumping against the doorframe. She ran a hand down her face, exhausted. “Let’s not talk about this now.”

Ino gaped at Tenten, her shock evident.

“Don’t look at me like that, Ino. I said times are changing,” Tenten replied softly, raising an eyebrow.

There was quiet in the room as Ino processed this, staring hard at her friend and employer. Sakura cleared her throat and said, gently, “Ino, I can get it for you. No one will know.”

Ino looked up at her, her eyes once again brimming with tears. A sob racked her body and Tenten broke away from the door, sitting down next to her and pulling her close. Tenten patted Ino’s head, her fingers catching on her long blonde hair. Behind them, Moegi cried silently.

Gulping down air, Ino breathed out, “I’m scared.”

Tenten nodded, her jaw tight as she made eye contact with Sakura, a question in her eyes. With a sigh, Sakura sat down next to them. Patting Ino’s knee, she reassured, “We all are, Ino. We all are.”

-o-

The next morning, Hinata stared at Shikamaru from across their small dining table, waiting for the right time to speak. He was reading the newspaper—something he did religiously every morning before walking to work. Hinata sipped her tea, watchful as Shikamaru mirrored her, bringing his cup to his lips.

“Shikamaru?” Hinata said as he drank.

His eyes lifted to hers, cautiously. “Yes?” he responded, setting his cup down.

Hinata lowered her gaze, demure. “I was wondering—you don’t talk about what you’re working on, at the office.”

Shikamaru waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he sighed heavily.

Hinata risked a glance—his mouth was pulled into a smirk, though it was unpleasant and put upon.

“So. Your father didn’t get what he wanted,” Shikamaru said in a detached tone.

Hinata looked at him, schooling her expression into bewilderment. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Shikamaru’s smirk widened. His eyes sparked with excitement—it was an expression he hadn’t worn in a long time in front of her. Hinata shied away, blushing.

“Come now, Hinata. Husbands and wives shouldn’t lie to each other,” he goaded. “We both know your father’s game here.”

Hinata frowned, feeling cowed under Shikamaru’s direct gaze. “My loyalty is with you,” she said finally, in a small voice.

Shikamaru laughed hollowly. “Do you expect me to believe that? I’m not stupid. He traipses around this house like he owns it—or at least, like he hopes to.” Shikamaru shook his head. “You should know by now, Hinata, that nothing concerning me happens without my allowing it.”

Hinata pursed her lips, silent.

Shikamaru went on, “The bill that your father is so anxious to know about concerns the public health. Specifically, putting into place a policy that would protect women of lower class in seeking medical attention.”

Hinata considered him curiously. “What does that mean?”

“You’re aware that this city has a number of bawdy houses?” Shikamaru posed, looking at her directly.

Hinata’s face reddened. She nodded quickly.

“Often, the women that work in houses like those are the cause of widespread disease. And they don’t go for treatment, making it a circular public health issue.”

Hinata cocked her head in thoughtfulness. “You’re trying to make it easier for these women to receive treatment?”

Shikamaru nodded once. “And the men they infect,” he added softly.

Hinata treated him to a puzzled look. “Why is this an issue you’re pursuing?”

Shikamaru touched his teacup, his eyes following the contents as they swirled inside. “The number of lawsuits against bawdy houses has been increasing over the past couple of years. They used to be a facet of our economy—not respected, exactly, but common enough. But public opinion has been shifting, and prostitutes are now considered second-class citizens. I don’t think that’s fair.”

“How does putting forth a bill about public health make it fairer?” Hinata posed, confused.

Shikamaru sighed. In a tired tone, he answered, “It doesn’t, really. But sometimes to achieve a goal you have to sacrifice to gain any ground.”

“I don’t understand,” Hinata said quietly.

Shikamaru’s gaze shifted back to her, his eyes narrowed. “Your father doesn’t want me to put forth this bill. In fact, he’s actively trying to undermine me, with his friends in the legislature that owe him a favor or two. His ideas about what is good for this city are very different from mine. And he knew that, whenever we were married. He knew the kind of son-in-law he was going to get. And yet—ever since then, he’s been actively trying to sway my opinion.” Shikamaru released a mocking smile. “He won’t be successful in that endeavor.”

“Shikamaru, you know I have nothing to do with his plans—” Hinata began.

Shikamaru silenced her with a piercing glare. “You don’t think I know about the little meetings he drags you to? Or the days he comes by to visit, hoping to catch me?” He shook his head. “If you were really concerned with my business, you would have severed yourself from his influence ages ago.”

Hinata clenched her hands, feeling the power they held as they shook in her lap, underneath the table. With reserve, she responded, “What my father does is no concern of mine. I have other things that require my focus.”

“Your impending motherhood?” Shikamaru posed, a dark eyebrow quirking. Hinata could not tell if this gesture was also intended to be mocking.

Shikamaru continued severely, “Is that not also a demand he’s made of you? It’s your duty as his daughter, your fulfillment of womanhood, the crowning glory of your societal acceptance, et cetera.”

Hinata felt her body seize with emotion. She blinked quickly to prevent tears from building.

“His agenda will not succeed in this house. At some point, Hinata, you’ll have to decide if you want to be my wife or your father’s daughter. Time is running out where you can be both.” With that, Shikamaru rose to his feet and headed for the door, tucking the newspaper under his arm.

Hinata watched him leave, sniffing, turning her teacup in its saucer with a shaky hand.

-o-

“You seem distracted today.”

Tenten glanced up at Neji Hyuga, absently rubbing her eyes. She smiled tightly. “Just tired. I had a late night.”

Neji considered her, a question forming on his lips. He looked away from her gaze as he asked carefully, “Do you also visit with your customers?”

Tenten smirked. “That’s a very thinly veiled question, Mr. Hyuga. Don’t you think it’s inappropriate to ask me that?”

Neji did not answer her, getting to his feet. After a moment, he said, “You mentioned, the last time we spoke, that you inherited this building from a previous owner. May I ask who it was, and what your relationship was to them?”

Tenten tilted her head and glanced at him—his back was to her, examining one of the parlor’s paintings.

She sighed. They had been forced into the parlor today by the cold weather outside; her office fireplace had been doing little to provide relief from the freezing cold temperatures outside. Begrudgingly, Tenten had led him to the parlor—though secretly she was enjoying seeing him in here where all the house’s customers reclined. She wondered if he sensed the irony.

“Yes. Her name was Lady Tsunade. She doesn’t live in the city anymore—she debarked to a different continent.”

“Tired of the debauched lifestyle?”

Tenten smiled, despite herself. Regardless of the pointedness of his comments, she enjoyed the verbal sparring with Neji Hyuga. She had never met a man who could match her, save Guy. “No,” she replied. “She fell in love.”

Neji stopped looking at the painting and turned to give her his full attention.

Tenten arched an eyebrow at him. “What?” she asked. “Bawdy house women can’t fall in love?”

Neji shook his head in bewilderment. “It’s not that. I’m surprised.”

“Why is that surprising? I thought you would be impressed by such a sentiment.” Tenten paused, her smirk deepening. “Ah, I suppose it’s because you’re unmarried—you have no frame of reference.”

Neji’s mouth tightened in irritation. “I could say the same for you,” he retorted.

Tenten grinned, but made no reply, getting to her feet to join him in front of the painting he’d been considering. She pointed him to it. “This is priceless, you know. It was given to me by the painter himself.”

Neji glanced at it, before letting his gaze return to her. “You’re not a very good liar,” he said.

“I never claimed to be,” she replied.

They shared a small, private smile. The clock on the mantel chimed the hour and Tenten looked to it, her expression stiffening.

“I have to go,” she said, gesturing to the clock.

“So soon?” Neji asked.

Tenten nodded and swept back to her office, grabbing her coat. When she returned to the parlor, wrapping a thick muffler around her throat, Neji was waiting by the door, dressed to leave. “May I accompany you?”

Tenten scoffed as she walked to the front door, holding it open as Neji stepped out onto the landing after her. “Do I look like I need an escort?” she asked, the annoyance in her tone softened by her scarf.

Neji cracked a small smile. “I’d never presume that you needed an escort. A handler, perhaps.”

Tenten ducked her head further into her scarf to hide her smile. Aloud she said, “You may accompany me until I reach my destination. After that I’ll have to send you away.”

“I accept your terms,” Neji replied.

They set off up the street; Tenten set a brisk pace, wincing at the wind chill.

“You never answered. What was your relationship to the previous owner of the bawdy house?” Neji said after a moment.

“She’s an old family friend. When I was around Moegi’s age, I came by looking for a way to make some extra money. Lady Tsunade made me her apprentice—she taught me how to keep accounts and order supplies, maintain a household. When she left, she bequeathed the house to me, and I’ve run it ever since.”

Tenten darted a look to Neji as he mulled this over, studying his profile. His eyes flickered to hers. “Why did you need the money?” he asked.

Tenten sighed. “My mother died when I was seven; my father when I was fifteen. My godfather took me in, but he didn’t have enough really to feed someone else. I went to the bawdy house out of necessity.” She shrugged, wincing at the way the cold air sliced through her chest.

“Did you finish school?” Neji said.

Tenten laughed mockingly. “An education can’t put food on the table, Mr. Hyuga. Poor girls are put to better use working in a factory, though that life is far from an abundant one.”

Neji nodded once, his mouth a thin line. Tenten wondered what conclusions he was drawing. He said after a moment, “Your godfather. He doesn’t mind you run a bawdy house?”

Tenten’s lips tightened. “He’s not opposed to it, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s too sick to complain about much these days.” Tenten winced—that had been unnecessary to share.

“What ails him?” Neji asked.

Tenten sighed and stopped, gazing at him. Neji halted and looked back at her, his eyebrows raised. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” she said.

“Why not?” Neji said.

“Because you’re trying to swindle me out of my livelihood.”

Neji’s expression softened slightly. “I told you I would give you a fair deal. I’m not interested in cheating people.”

Tenten shrugged carelessly. “Does it matter? I should be making it a lot harder for you.”

“I thought we agreed we would be civil,” Neji said, tilting his head in contemplation.

“We did,” Tenten said slowly, her mouth pulling to the side in a grimace. “But my personal details have nothing to do with my business.”

“They seem to me to be one and the same,” replied Neji, looking at her pointedly, as if she were a puzzle he was attempting to figure out.

Tenten held his eyes for a moment before glancing away, shaking her head. “Let’s keep going; it’s cold out.” She brushed past him to continue up the street.

* * *

They passed the rest of their journey in discomfited silence. Tenten wanted back the lighthearted exchanges, but feared she’d shown too much of herself; she couldn’t bring herself to say something careless now.

When they reached the alley that led to the hospital, Tenten took a step away from Neji, enfolding herself between the brick walls, away from the chill. She looked at him, unsure of what to say.

Neji stared back, before letting his gaze drift over her shoulder, down the alleyway. His curiosity was palpable. “What other secrets are you hiding?”

Tenten smiled, a low chuckle in her throat. “Do you think a madame would need to hide, Mr. Hyuga? All of my secrets are in plain sight.”

His eyes darted back to the end of the alley, and his expression smoothed, recognition dawning. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Your godfather?”

Tenten pursed her lips, exhaling.

“How long has he been sick?”

Tenten crossed her arms, trying to get warm. Reservedly, she answered, “Mr. Hyuga, my godfather has nothing to do with your buying my property.”

Neji brushed this aside, saying, “You support him, don’t you? From the money you make at the brothel?”

Tenten flushed, her fingers clenching her arms tightly. “It’s not your concern, Mr. Hyuga. Thank you for accompanying me. Good day.”

They stared at one another for a long, heavy moment, before Neji took a step back from her, turning aside to the street. He nodded to her deferentially, interest swirling in his pale eyes. Tenten waited until he’d walked several yards up the street before heading down the dark alleyway to see Guy.

His pallor was distinctly sallower today, his dark hair lacking its normal sheen. He smiled weakly at her as he was led down the steps by a nurse. Tenten clutched his arm and drew him to her on the small stone bench.

“You were late today,” Guy mused, pulling his blanket tighter across his shoulders.

“Mr. Hyuga decided to escort me,” Tenten breathed, struck by how bewildering that statement was.

Guy turned to her, surprise in the crease lines of his tired face. “Oh? Does he realize you don’t need an escort?”

Tenten smiled warmly. “I told him as much. He wasn’t deterred.”

Guy mulled this over for a few seconds, finally saying, “Is it a personal interest he has in you, or a professional one?”

Tenten scoffed, resisting the urge to smack him as she had when she’d been younger, and he had been healthy. “Guy, please.”

“It’s not a natural thing, for a Hyuga of any sort to escort the madame of a brothel,” Guy said with certainty.

“You’re making it into more than it was,” Tenten chided. “He thinks I’m holding something back from him.”

“And are you?”

Tenten treated him to a glare. “You told me to be careful around them. That’s what I’ve been _trying_ to do.”

“But?” Guy asked, sensing her hesitation.

Tenten sighed, leaning her head onto Guy’s shoulder. “He’s nice to talk to, I suppose. Even if he is a lawyer.”

Guy patted her hand, smiling to himself.

“We came to a truce of sorts,” continued Tenten. “He promised he would give me a fair evaluation for what it’s all worth.”

“Do you believe him?”

Tenten twisted her fingers together, unsure how to answer. She lifted her head to peer at her godfather. “Do you think I should?”

“Tenten, you seem to know him better than I,” Guy replied, clearing his throat.

Tenten pulled the blanket more securely under his chin, her expression faraway. Guy studied her calmly, his lips twitching.

“Do you think men with power can be known? Or trusted?” she posed thoughtfully.

Guy raised his thick eyebrows. “What do you think?”

Tenten shrugged. “I suppose it depends on how much power the person dealing with them possesses.”

“And do you? Have power that matches his?”

She grimaced, leaning forward to cradle her head in her hands. “Everything’s slipping from my hands, Guy. All the power I thought I had has gone from me, and I don’t think it’s possible to get it back.”

-o-

Sakura had never had a patient like Mrs. Hinata Nara. Throughout her medical training, and then later, at the midwifery, Sakura was frequently treated with disdain or overlooked. Patients had cursed and spat in her face—Sakura even had a few stories of being smacked around by particularly difficult invalids.

But Hinata, despite the depth of her unhappiness, was unfailingly kind. Hinata’s father had been adamant with his hiring instructions—Sakura was to visit Hinata every week until a result came of it. To Sakura, Hinata had quickly become something like a friend.

* * *

On her third visit to the stately house, Sakura was greeted at the door by a tall man who bore a stunning resemblance to Hinata.

“Yes?” he asked brusquely, his gaze quickly sweeping over her.

Sakura said firmly, “I’m here to see Mrs. Nara. I’m her doctor.”

The man’s eyebrows rose a fraction. His head tilted to the side, considering her. “Her doctor?”

“Cousin, let Sakura in,” called Hinata from beyond the foyer.

Hinata’s cousin moved to allow Sakura entry, his features skeptical. He led Sakura to the parlor where Hinata received most of her guests. She was pouring tea into a third teacup as they walked in. Hinata smiled at Sakura brightly, enjoining her to sit on the couch beside her.

Sakura obliged, taking the teacup offered to her. Her eyes darted questioningly to the man who sat across from them.

“Sakura, this is my cousin, Neji Hyuga. Neji, this is Doctor Haruno.”

Sakura’s forehead creased for a moment, recognizing the name—though she couldn’t recall where she’d heard it before. Neji nodded to her in greeting, his brow drawn in consternation. He looked to Hinata, asking a silent question.

“Father arranged it,” Hinata said in answer, sweeping a long lock of hair behind her ear.

“It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance,” Sakura said politely to Neji, her gaze direct.

“And yours,” Neji said, his confusion remaining. “You are a doctor? Not a midwife?”

Sakura smiled tightly. “I have a medical degree, yes.”

“From which college?”

Hinata set her teacup down abruptly on the table. The sharp sound of china hitting wood echoed through the room. She treated her cousin to a stern expression. “Neji, it’s impolite to question my guest. Please do not embarrass me.”

Neji looked away, obviously subdued by his cousin’s request. “My apologies, Doctor Haruno. I meant no disrespect.”

Sakura dismissed it with a wave of her hand, treating Hinata to a reassuring grin. “You’re not the first man to question such a thing, Mr. Hyuga. I take no offense.”

Hinata considered her cousin, then turned to Sakura, sharing a private smile. “Neji has grown tired of my complaints. I keep telling him that he should endure them now, because when he marries it will be all he hears.”

Sakura inclined her head, sipping her tea. Her green eyes flitted over to Neji. Hinata went on, “Doctor Haruno is also single, cousin.”

Sakura resisted the urge to gag, her throat closing. Neji shot Hinata a fleeting glare. His displeasure evident, he said, “Hinata, please don’t embarrass me in front of your guest.”

Hinata smiled, an impishness resting in the corner of her upturned mouth. “I’m not suggesting anything,” she said gently.

Sakura cleared her throat, distinctly uncomfortable. Her eyes lifted to Neji’s, then quickly looked away when he met her gaze.

Neji got to his feet suddenly, abandoning his teacup. “I’ll return to work now,” Neji said, inclining his head courteously to Sakura. “Cousin, I’ll speak with you later.”

He walked out of the parlor, and a moment later, Sakura and Hinata heard the front door close.

Hinata looked at Sakura, her expression meek. “I’m sorry if that was too forward. I was only teasing.” She paused, then said, “Though, it would be a good match, if you don’t mind my saying so. Neji’s very kind, underneath all his seriousness.”

Sakura flushed and shook her head. “That’s nice of you to say. I don’t think—”

Hinata clutched her hand, interrupting, “Sakura, put it out of your mind. I only thought . . . well, it would be nice to have you closer. We get along so well, and I know my cousin well enough to know he would respect your independence. But I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

Sakura nodded and patted Hinata’s arm. “That’s alright.” She took a breath and asked her, “How are you feeling?”

Hinata sank back into the couch, wrapping her arms around herself. “Normal,” she replied dejectedly.

“And your husband?”

Hinata pursed her lips. “He’s been busy with work.”

Sakura hummed and reached into her bag, withdrawing a small pouch. She placed it in Hinata’s lap, smiling softly. “This isn’t a medically approved method—but sometimes home remedies can work best. Brew these herbs and drink three cups a day.”

Hinata accepted the sachet gratefully, meeting Sakura’s gaze. “Thank you,” she said, barely above a whisper. She reached out and squeezed Sakura’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Hinata,” Sakura reassured, squeezing back. “Your time will come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about pregnancy in the 18th century: most women did not know they were pregnant until symptoms developed—especially “quickening”, which are the first fetal movements.
> 
> Abortion in Victorian society was made illegal in 1803, with successive laws following throughout that century; though the practice was common among working women and those in poverty. Women seeking an abortion could have a doctor perform it or take a variety of advertised abortifacient pills.


	5. Chapter Five

**_LOTUS ST BAWDY HOUSE CLOSES AMID GOVERNMENT PRESSURE_ **

_Following prior months’ police raids at the bawdy house located on Lotus St., it has become the public and government’s interest to rally for the house’s closure. The madame of the establishment was this week seen at court to protest the motion. However, after appearing, it was discovered the madame had a variety of charges brought against her. Authorities had her removed to the nearest jail. Speaking favorably of the matter, Mr. H. Hyuga, of the influential Hyuga Group, was quoted as saying, ‘The closing of the Lotus St. bawdy house is a relief to many in our city. This lewd behavior promotes the devaluation of womanhood, as it should be, marriage, society. . . The only way to remedy this impudent and ghastly blight in our city is to eradicate it completely.’_

-o- 

“Madame?”

Tenten looked up from her account book to see two of her older employees standing in the doorway.

“Come in,” she said, waving them in.

Sheepishly, the women entered and stood before her. Tenten raised her eyebrows in expectation, and one said, “We’ve found jobs, ma’am. At a factory. We’ll start next week and wanted to let you know we’ll be leaving.”

Though this had been what Tenten had encouraged the past few months, it still stung to hear. “Where will you live?” Tenten asked, concerned.

The women glanced at each other. “We found a fairly cheap room to rent that we’ll share, until we start making enough at the factory. It won’t be like here, unfortunately, with Ayame cooking for us.”

Tenten smiled sadly. “Thank you for telling me. You can always ask me for anything, and I’ll do my best to help.”

The women smiled back, nodding, before taking their leave.

Tenten leaned back in her office chair and rubbed her eyes. Her cold hands burned against her flushed cheeks. She glanced again at her accounts and picked up a pen to strike through another line of income, scrawling out a new number. A chill settled in her chest.

“Moegi?” she called out.

There was a pause, then the door cracked open. “Ma’am?” Moegi asked, sticking her head inside.

“Will you run an errand for me? Go to town and ask for Mr. Yamato—I have some furniture I’d be interested in selling him.”

Moegi stared at her, her face slack with uncertainty.

“Go,” Tenten said, her tone firm.

Moegi nodded her head and slipped out, quietly closing the door behind her.

-o-

As the days grew colder, Ino became more listless. Several weeks had passed since their discussion of her condition in Tenten’s bedroom. Over the course of a few mornings, Ino had begun to discover her figure was changing. Sakura was called once more, and the prognosis was given. After seeing Ino’s small bump, Tenten had pulled her from serving the gentlemen—she was relegated to only helping Ayame now, until Ino reached her decision about what to do with the baby growing in her stomach.

* * *

Ino watched as Ayame kneaded dough on her wooden kitchen table, her strong arms pushing and pulling the lump. It was mesmerizing to watch Ayame work—the woman was a master at doing everything at once.

Catching her eye, Ayame asked, “Would you like to try, Ino? It’s not hard.”

Ino shook her head. While her nausea had eased considerably in the last few weeks, Ino had come to feel more lethargic with each passing day. She would be in the middle of a task, helping Ayame clean dishes or hang laundry, when suddenly, her eyes would begin to droop. Even now, simply observing Ayame make bread was making Ino sleepy.

“I think I’ll go for a walk, if it’s alright, Ayame,” Ino said, slipping off the kitchen stool.

Ayame nodded dismissively, already returning to the task at hand.

Ino shrugged on her winter coat and walked down the hall, exiting into the alleyway. She set off up the street with purpose; the cold weather sharpened her focus, whipping through her hair.

It had been weeks since she’d seen him. All she knew of him she’d read from the papers—he was trying desperately to pass his public health bill, but so far, he’d been weighed down by protesters and self-interested politicians. She didn’t know if his absence was due to Tenten telling him of her condition, or if he’d simply been too busy to come see her. Ino hoped for the latter; her self-preservation would not allow her to question the former.

His office was located off a small side street near the city’s center. As she walked up the sidewalk, Ino carefully avoided making eye contact with the gentlemen and ladies that passed by her—her lower status could not have been clearer had she written it on her forehead.

Ino paused on the walk and leaned against a lamppost, staring across the street into the front window of Shikamaru’s office. Ino rarely saw him when she made this trip; of the many times she'd come to survey his office in secret, she'd done little more than loiter outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Tenten would kill her if she knew—which is why Ino hadn’t told a soul. _Not that it would matter now,_ she thought to herself, drawing her coat tighter around her as the wind picked up.

She couldn’t wait any longer. She wanted to talk to him—about the baby, about the possibility of a future together. Ino flushed, thinking of it. She’d been mulling over what she’d wanted to say for weeks.

She’d asked to be his mistress in a rush of pleasure, but what she really wanted, in the depths of her heart, was to be his wife—a friend, a partner, a companion in all things. Ino knew it was foolish—a prostitute asking to be a politician’s wife. But Shikamaru had only ever treated her as an equal, a confidant. The relationship he had with _her_ paled in comparison.

Ino brought her hands up to her mouth, blowing on her fingers. He had to say yes. Once he knew about the baby, surely, he would say yes. _Won’t he?_

Ino blinked as she saw Shikamaru move past his office window, his hands in his hair as he paced. His lips were moving—perhaps rehearsing a speech—and his brow was furrowed in annoyance. Ino swallowed and waited for him to pause by the window, to look out and scan the street, to find her. But he didn’t. He continued to stride around his office, stopping to consult papers on his desk every few minutes.

“Move along, miss,” came an authoritative voice.

Ino looked over her shoulder. A police officer stared back at her, his gaze narrow and unforgiving.

“I’m not bothering anyone,” she replied crisply. She wet her chapped lips with her tongue.

“No loitering,” the police officer said, unmoved.

Ino glanced back to Shikamaru’s office—his back was to the street, head bent over his papers.

“Now, miss,” said the officer, stepping forward.

“Fine,” she snapped, walking down the sidewalk. She had the idea to circle back to Shikamaru’s office once the officer was gone, but one glance back told her that he wasn’t budging—his eyes were still on her.

With a frustrated growl, Ino set off to return to Ayame’s warm kitchen, resolving to try again soon.

-o-

Hinata had little to distract her throughout the course of her day. Besides the frequent visits from Neji, her father, and Sakura, her preoccupations could be summed up in sewing clothes for her to-be son or daughter or planning small parties for she and Shikamaru’s acquaintances.

This morning was no different. Hinata was sitting in the dining room, preparing her dinner party courses, when she felt it. Shakily, she got to her feet and walked quickly to the bathroom. Hinata shut the door behind her and hurriedly pushed aside her layers of skirts.

There, staining her undergarments was red blood, bright and trickling as it dripped down her thighs. Hinata pressed her lips together, gripping the edge of her porcelain bathtub she was leaning against.

It had returned—the month was painted red once more. A frustrated cry crept out of Hinata’s throat. She knotted her hands in her hair, wincing as she clenched her fists against her scalp. Bitter tears welled in her eyes before spilling, sliding slowly down her pale cheeks.

* * *

“Neji, why haven’t you bought the bawdy house yet?”

Hinata’s eyes flickered up from her sewing to glance at her cousin. Her father’s tone had not been gracious.

Neji hesitated a moment before saying, “I’m preparing the evaluation. It’s a large house that’s had a lot of work done. I want to offer a fair price.”

Hiashi’s displeasure was clear. “It’s the building I want, not the infested chattel. Is the madame amenable to a deal or not?”

Neji briefly met Hinata’s gaze, then looked away, his lips pursed. “She is,” he said, “but Uncle, you have to understand that she has to find a place for her employees to go.”

Hiashi stared at Neji in surprise. Eyes narrowed, he said, “Neji, I don’t care about the madame and her employees. I want the building. You should have presented a contract by now—why are you dragging your feet? Don’t tell me you’ve been going there for other business.”

Neji flinched, a flush rising on his cheeks.

“Father,” Hinata interjected softly, “Neji would never.”

Hiashi turned to his daughter waspishly. “I don’t see you being any more successful than he is, Hinata.”

Hinata blushed, quietly furious. She opened her mouth to deliver a retort, but Neji interrupted. “Uncle, I’m working on it. The madame isn’t—she’ll refuse the offer if I don’t propose the right price at the outset. I don’t want to lose my credibility,” he said imploringly.

Hiashi glanced at Neji, shaking his head slowly. “Your credibility? Who cares if you have credibility in a den of harlots? You should bring thunder to their doorstep, not kindness.”

Neji’s mouth pulled to the side. Hinata frowned—her cousin was hiding something.

Hiashi scrutinized his nephew; he had seen the twitch also. “What is this?” he asked Neji. “You really are succumbing to their kind of diversion?”

“I wouldn’t,” Neji said, closed off. He turned his face away, looking out the window of the parlor.

Hiashi opened his mouth to continue questioning, but Hinata quickly said, “Father, I know what Shikamaru’s bill is about.”

Hiashi slowly looked at her, his features troubled. “And?”

Hinata licked her lips, glancing at Neji. “It’s for the public health. He wants to give freer access for medical treatment.”

Hiashi sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest. “The public health,” he mused aloud. He raised an eyebrow at her. “What else?”

Hinata’s throat was dry as she swallowed. She looked back down to her sewing, so innocent and delicate in her hands. “Nothing. That was all he said,” she mumbled.

Hiashi exhaled.

The wall clock that hung in the parlor chimed the hour. Hiashi shifted, his lined face deepening. “Thank you, Hinata,” he finally said, getting to his feet. He glanced at Neji. “I expect results, Neji. Sooner rather than later. Don’t forget your responsibility to this family, and to me.”

With that, Hinata watched her father leave the parlor, headed for the front door. Hinata’s eyes darted to her cousin, eyebrows raised. “Neji, what’s—?” she began.

Neji got to his feet, shooting her a glare. “You have your business, and I have mine,” he said shortly.

Hinata stood, following him into the foyer. “What happened? Did something go wrong?” She reached out to grasp his sleeve.

Neji brushed her off, glancing at her briefly. “Thank you for your defense,” Neji muttered to her.

Before he could slip out the door, Hinata said, “Don’t forget about my dinner party, Neji. It’s very important that you be there.”

Neji nodded once and exited. Hinata watched him cross to the public sidewalk, wondering what on earth was dwelling so heavily on her cousin’s mind.

-o-

“What happens in this room?” Neji asked, making notes in his ledger.

Tenten watched him, a small, bemused smile at the corner of her mouth. Neji had arrived a half-hour before in a distinctly agitated mood. Though Tenten was curious as to the cause of it, she’d been unable to ask—Neji’s questions had been incessant since the moment they’d sat down.

They were in the dining room this noontide—her office fireplace was no match for the chillingly cold weather outside. The doors were shut tight to intruders; Tenten had charged Moegi to warn away anyone who might come down.

“The normal activities. Orgies, séances, things of that sort.”

His gaze broke from his ledger to glance at her for the briefest of seconds. His disapproval was palpable.

“You’re very serious today, Mr. Hyuga,” Tenten said, smiling gently.

Neji looked back to his notes and cleared his throat. “This dining room was an addition to the original house, correct? I can tell from the flooring.”

“Have I said something to offend you?” Tenten asked, tilting her head to consider him. “Are you upset that I sent you away the last time we met?”

His mouth tightened, but he did not look at her. “How much would you say this room has been used? Have you had many repairs done, or have there been hazards with the kitchen?”

Tenten considered him for a moment before getting to her feet. “Let’s go for a walk, Mr. Hyuga.”

“It’s cold out,” Neji replied, watching her.

Tenten frowned. “Are you refusing to escort me?”

Neji grimaced but stood up slowly, following her into the vestibule. As they bundled themselves in thicker coats, Tenten caught Moegi’s eye. The younger girl raised her eyebrows in question, but Tenten simply smiled in answer.

Once outside, Neji let Tenten choose their direction. Her feet started of their own volition towards Guy's lodgings.

After a moment of walking in silence, Tenten volunteered dejectedly, “I haven’t had the easiest of weeks. Two of my employees quit.”

Neji glanced at her. “Is that so.”

Tenten nodded, tugging her scarf tighter around her neck. “And another is ill, meaning that she can’t serve customers. Which means that I’ll lose some business, since she’s fairly popular.”

Neji winced at this knowledge, but the concern in her brow gave him pause. “You’re worried about not making enough to cover your expenses?”

Tenten made a face and nodded once, her eyes on the ground. “Winter is always a difficult month for business. It costs a lot of money to buy coal—I have to shut off a few rooms of the house because they’re not worth the expense to keep it warm.”

Neji listened in silence, his hands deep inside his coat pockets. After a while, Tenten glanced at him, her cheeks flushed with cold. “There, I’ve unloaded my mind, Mr. Hyuga. It’s only fair that you share what’s been bothering you.”

He turned to her with an unreadable expression. “My uncle is not happy with my progress concerning you.”

She thought this over before saying, “Well, your uncle has never had the pleasure of meeting me, so I wouldn’t fret over his consideration of you.”

His first smile of the afternoon broke free. Their gazes met, shyly, before skimming away.

“You’re certainly right,” Neji murmured. “I’ll be sure to tell him so, when I see him next.”

Tenten shook her head, good-natured. “You only ever speak of your uncle. Don’t you have other family that you’re on good terms with?”

“I’m close with one of my cousins—she’s the only member of my family I can speak freely with. My parents are no longer living, and I have no other siblings.” Neji hesitated, then asked, “Your godfather . . . how is he?”

Tenten winced. “He's the same, unfortunately.”

“The hospital where he’s staying—do they have adequate care?”

Tenten glanced at him in her periphery vision. His gaze was trained forward, but his mien was seriously attentive. Tenten felt her heart warm a little more towards him. Exhaling, she said, “No, he stays at an almshouse. I’ve been reading that his condition might improve if he were moved to a facility with more fresh air, but he doesn’t like the idea.”

Neji mulled this over. He paused before saying, “He has consumption, doesn’t he?”

Tenten clenched her jaw. Neji regarded her carefully. Tenten pressed her lips together, avoiding his gaze. “We were supposed to be discussing your burdens, Mr. Hyuga, not more of mine.”

“My concerns aren’t worth your notice. They’re far less weighty than yours.”

“What if I were in your confidence?” She paused, then muttered, almost under her breath, “I’ve as good as told you that you’re in mine.”

From the corner of her eye, Tenten saw his eyes dart to her in barely concealed astonishment. He stopped, grasping her elbow to halt her. In a restrained tone, he said, “I wish to be your friend. Do—do you think that’s possible, considering everything that lies between us?”

Tenten’s eyebrows lifted a fraction in surprise. “Mr. Hyuga, haven’t we been friends this whole time?”

Neji’s mouth pulled into a smirk full of sarcasm. “You’re mocking me,” he said.

Tenten pursed her lips to keep a grin from emerging. Seriously, she replied, “I graciously accept your offer of friendship.” She held out her hand.

Neji grasped her gloved fingers for a few seconds, then released them. Without another word, he resumed his steady pace. Tenten moved to fall back into step, struggling to hide her smile.

* * *

Later that evening, a knock came on Tenten’s office door and she looked up from her newspaper. Moegi stuck her head in. “Madame, Mr. Nara’s here.”

Tenten sucked in a breath. “Bring him here, please.”

Moegi nodded and ducked out. A few moments later, Shikamaru Nara entered, inclining his head to Moegi in thanks as she closed the door behind him. He sat in the chair across from Tenten, eyes narrowed. He had not removed his coat.

“Madame, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

Tenten sat up straighter, her mouth a thin line. “I have news for you.”

“Concerning what?”

Tenten gave him a meaningful look.

Shikamaru smirked, one eyebrow quirked. “Don’t tell me she ran off and got married finally,” he muttered.

“No,” Tenten paused, trying to gauge his reaction. “She’s pregnant.”

Shikamaru cursed once and slumped further in the chair, his mouth slanting into a displeased line. “May I see her?” he finally asked.

Tenten shook her head. “You know I can’t have her around the house now. I’ve sent her away.”

Shikamaru treated her to a sardonic smile. His dark eyes flickered up to the ceiling pointedly. “So, she’s upstairs then? You’re not cold-hearted, madame. You’d never turn her out on the street.”

Tenten flushed. She looked at him piercingly. “It will agitate her, to see you. I don’t wish it.”

“Of course, madame.” Shikamaru stood to his feet, his hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry that I must disobey your wishes. But I will speak to her.”

He opened the door to walk out, but Tenten got to her feet, saying in a sharp whisper, “She believes it’s yours.”

Shikamaru looked at her over his shoulder, his usually cool expression somewhat cracked. He stepped back inside the office and closed the door, leaning against it.

“There’s no way of knowing that for sure, of course,” Tenten went on, holding his gaze, “but it’s what she believes nonetheless.”

Shikamaru mulled this over, eyes darting around the room as he thought. Finally, he said, “How far along is she?”

“A few months at least.” When Shikamaru fell silent again, Tenten said, “I don’t wish for you to see her. It will mess with her head.”

Shikamaru sighed but nodded once. He opened the door again, looking at Tenten as he stood out in the hallway. His mouth had formed a small, bitter smirk. “Fate has an interesting sense of humor, wouldn’t you agree, madame?”

Tenten nodded tightly and Shikamaru strode down the hall, out of her sight. She sank back down into her chair, grasping the newspaper and pulling it close. On the front page, in the bottom corner read a headline: **_PUBLIC HEALTH BILL FAILS TO PASS; POLICYMAKERS RIDICULED BY ASSEMBLY_**.

-o-

Sakura kept two pictures on the small desk inside her rented room in the boardinghouse. The first was a print of her graduation class at the medical college. She was seated in the front row, her face serious, hands clasped in her lap. Sakura’s green eyes flitted over the faces of her colleagues, recalling their names, the jeers they’d injured, the comfortable jobs they’d been offered upon graduation. She shook her head and turned her gaze to the other print. It had already begun to fade in the corners, the image itself taking on a purple hue. But his beauty was still evident.

And yet—Sakura reached out and grasped the frame, bringing his face close to hers. The image could never convey what had been dark, glittering eyes or his proud mouth, always filled with declarations of one kind or another. He had not been a day older than eleven when this had been taken. As usual, he was wearing a scowl, his sour expression almost identical to his older brother’s. Sakura lifted her eyes to Itachi, frowning at the tight grip he had on Sasuke’s shoulder. She sighed, shifting her attention to their parents—his father, always stern, while his mother smiled a soft, barely detectable smile. Sakura’s jaw tightened as sadness settled in her chest.

“It doesn’t do to dwell on the past,” she muttered to herself, setting the picture back where it belonged. She gazed at it for another long moment before getting to her feet to get dressed.

As she pulled on her stockings for the party, Sakura wondered what he would say if he could see her now. Would he laugh at her ambitions, or would he have been proud—in his own way? She frowned. If only things could have been different.

* * *

When Sakura was ushered into the drawing room of Hinata’s home, she was slightly taken aback by the amount of detail her newest friend had put into this small dinner party. What caught her particular attention were the clusters of snowdrops and holly on every table or bookcase, appearing beautiful and delicate in glass vases.

Hinata greeted her warmly, quickly removing her coat. A maid stepped forward to whisk it away. Hinata’s eyes shined as she took Sakura around the room, introducing her to her other guests—an assembly of her husband’s colleagues and their wives, as well as Hinata’s younger sister and her cousin, Neji.

Sakura smiled at him timidly when Hinata reintroduced them, disregarding the eager way Hinata looked between the two of them; Neji seemed to be doing the same. To his cousin, he said, “Hinata, leave Dr. Haruno here, since we’re already acquainted.”

Hinata nodded, pleased, and with a small squeeze of Sakura’s hand, stepped away to attend to her other guests.

Sakura snuck a glance at Neji Hyuga out of the corner of her eye as she stood next to him. Aware of her gaze, he said in a confidential tone, “My cousin has become interested in matchmaking. She’s designated me to be your escort and conversational partner for the evening.”

Sakura held back a snicker. Aloud she said, “I’m sorry she’s sentenced you to that fate. I’m sure there are much more interesting conversationalists in this room than me.”

“On that point, I don’t agree with you. I’d much rather talk with you than anyone else in this room.”

Sakura met his gaze. “I think you and I are both under the impression that a good match we would not make,” she said delicately.

Neji nodded agreeably, a small smile emerging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad we’ve come to the same understanding. Now, there’s something serious I wanted your professional opinion on.”

Sakura waited with curiosity, watching Neji’s eyes drift, unfocused, around the room. “What do you know of consumption? And its treatment?” he finally asked.

Sakura’s head tilted in consideration, analyzing him. “You don’t have the disease, correct? You _are_ pale, but you don’t seem to have other symptoms.”

Neji shook his head.

“Someone close to you, then?” Sakura prompted, business-like.

An odd, pink tinge graced Neji’s cheeks. A beat later, clearly exercising some restraint, he said, “Not exactly.”

“Well,” Sakura said slowly, “it’s a wasting disease. There’s not much to be done for it—I know of a few doctors that think performing bleeding can be beneficial, but most recommend rest and fresh air.”

“Do you think sanatoria are helpful?”

Sakura hummed in thought. “They can be, but it depends on the progress of the disease.” Sakura fixed Neji with a scrutinizing eye. “I could see them—the person who’s suffering. I wouldn’t know how far along the disease is without seeing them for myself.”

Neji grimaced. “It’s not. . . it’s not someone I’m personally acquainted with. The patient is the relative of . . . a friend.”

“Where are they staying?” Sakura asked, withdrawing a small notebook she kept with her. Neji told her the address and Sakura scrawled it out. “I’ll go in the morning,” she assured him.

Neji thanked her, a flush creeping up his neck. “Please don’t mention that I sent you. I—my friend is very adamant about their privacy. They would be very displeased to hear that I mentioned their business.”

Sakura smiled. “I am the epitome of discretion, Mr. Hyuga.”

Hinata stepped into the room once more and called everyone to dinner. Her husband, clearly just arrived, stood behind her, his dark eyes sweeping the room.

“Shall we?” Neji asked, offering his arm to her.

Sakura nodded and allowed Neji to guide her to the dining room.

* * *

Dinner was an elegant affair, with a variety of dishes and endless courses. It was one of the lengthiest meals Sakura had ever endured. Neji, though a little reserved, did his due diligence in keeping Sakura entertained by introducing topics of discussion.

When dinner was concluded, the ladies adjourned to the drawing room again. Not a half-hour passed before the gentlemen rejoined them. Hinata’s husband, Mr. Nara, stepped over to Sakura and nodded to her in greeting.

“I’m Mr. Nara,” he said. “Hinata tells me that you’re her newest friend. She said you’re a doctor.”

Sakura nodded. “Yes, I am. Thank you for having me to your home tonight, sir.”

Mr. Nara shook his head, a thin, unamused smile on his lips. “They say that the key to marital happiness is to let your wife have her indulgences.” He shrugged, glancing around the room. His eyes lingered on Neji for a moment before returning to Sakura. “You’re unmarried?”

“Yes, sir,” Sakura said, inwardly wincing at the increasing number of times in one evening she’d been asked such a question.

“Hinata also mentioned that in addition to your being a doctor with a reputable degree, that you also help out at the midwifery.”

“Yes, sir.” Sakura narrowed her eyes, unsure of where Mr. Nara was headed in his inquiry.

“Tell me—how often do you see women of ill-repute?”

Sakura started at the question, frowning. She cast a quick eye around the room—everyone was seemingly engaged in their own conversations; no one was paying she and Mr. Nara any attention.

“Sir, do you really expect me to own up to that? In the medical community, servicing those types of patients is looked down upon. It’s enough to damage one’s credibility as a caregiver,” Sakura said in a low voice, unable to keep a blush rising to her cheeks as she thought of Ino and Tenten.

“I’m aware of the repercussions,” Mr. Nara replied, taking a sip from his brandy glass. “I only ask because it’s a personal mission of mine to rectify the public’s perception.”

Sakura’s brow furrowed. Before she could ask him why, Mr. Nara continued, “Are you currently attending pregnant women?”

Sakura stared at him, confused. “Sir, I see many patients. The midwifery school gets—”

“Are you attending a _blonde_ pregnant woman?” Mr. Nara interrupted, dark eyes fixing on her seriously.

Sakura gaped at him, speechless.

“Thank you for seeing to my dinner partner, Shikamaru,” said Neji, stepping over to them. His eyes warily considered his brother-in-law.

Coolly, Shikamaru nodded and bobbed his head carelessly in parting to Sakura, before stepping away. When he was out of earshot, Neji said, “If you don’t mind my asking, what was he speaking to you about?”

Sakura blinked and shook her head, pushing a polite smile onto her mouth. In a disinterested tone, she said, “He was explaining to me the process of brandy distillation. Nothing important.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Ino’s in her fourth month of pregnancy, around 15 to 16 weeks, which places her firmly in her second trimester.  
> \- Small note on 19th century underwear: women wore pantalettes (or bloomers) that were like long pants. The crotch was left open to make it easier to relieve oneself.  
> \- Almshouses were charity-funded housing, usually for the poor. In the 18th and 19th centuries, they were often used as hospitals. They were often expensive to run, understaffed, and undersupplied, though they served a large population of poor individuals. Towards the end of the 18th century, almshouses began to be replaced by asylums and institutions.  
> \- It was a common belief in that century that “fresh air” could alleviate or cure tuberculosis—not true. Consumption has been the historical term used for tuberculosis.  
> \- Albumen prints were precursors to photographs—they were invented in 1850. Paper was soaked in albumen from eggs, then combined with a negative, and left in the sunlight. The paper would absorb the image from the negative and create a print with the image on top of the paper. It was extremely popular into the 19th century due to its level of detail in an image and cheapness.  
> \- Snowdrops are often associated with symbols of hope or sympathy. Holly is considered to be a symbol of fertility. Both are plants that do well in the winter-time.  
> \- Sanatoria were medical buildings for long-term illness, primarily tuberculosis. They had mixed results of success before antibiotics were introduced in the 1940s.  
> \- In short, Victorian era dinner parties were spectacles that involved lots of forethought. A side note on some etiquette: Hinata paired Neji with Sakura as a dinner partner—this means that Sakura would have sat to Neji’s right, and that he would be responsible for engaging her in conversation and serving her, if such an opportunity presented itself.
> 
> If you ever want to read more on the various subjects covered, I'm not opposed to sharing my references--just PM me. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some housekeeping notes concerning this fic: Almost the entirety of the rest of this story is outlined, and as of today (3/10/20), I don't foresee it exceeding 10 chapters in total, which I've reflected here. But I'll be sure to update it if there are any changes.
> 
> Also-I know that I'm making all of our beloved characters miserable right now (and it will remain that way for a little while longer), but I promise that I will give them the endings I believe they deserve by the end. My apologies in advance for running the Angst Meter on high this chapter.

Sakura re-read the address in her notebook, glancing up at the nearest street sign. She took a few steps down the sidewalk, peering down alleyways. "Should be near here . . . somewhere," she muttered under her breath, squinting at the darkened spaces between brick buildings.

After another moment of studying passageways, Sakura's eye caught on a small, dilapidated-looking courtyard, abutting an even shabbier white house. As she made her way to the door, a woman came out, her hair pinned underneath a nurse's cap and wearing an apron. Sakura waved a hand to catch her attention.

"Good morning," Sakura called. "I'm a doctor who was asked to attend to a patient. May I?"

The woman, either because she wasn't in charge or she simply did not care, said dismissively, "Well, go on then."

Sakura frowned at the woman's acquiescence. _They really don't teach anyone anything nowadays, do they?_ she thought to herself as she charged up the short flight of steps.

Inside, the almshouse boasted twelve beds, though there were scattered chairs around the room occupied by patients. Sakura took everything in for a moment, sucked in a deep breath, then charged forward to the nearest patient.

It was a woman, middle-aged, with parched lips and a faraway gaze. Sakura set her hand against the woman's forehead and winced—Sakura's fingertips were scalded with fever. The woman moved only to push her forehead further into Sakura's palm, seeking relief.

Sakura frowned and called out to the nearest girl wearing a nurse's cap, "What is ailing her?"

The girl, who was tending to a colicky baby in a nearby corner, sighed loudly. "Dunno. She doesn't speak."

Sakura's lips pressed together, an ember of anger unfurling in her chest. Determinedly, Sakura pushed back her hair, donned her cap, and opened her bag.

* * *

It was well into the afternoon before Sakura reached the halfway point of the small room. She glanced over her shoulder at the patients she'd treated, a small smile finding its way to her mouth. The different ailments had run the gamut so far, everything from colds to broken bones to bedsores. But as Sakura made progress through the room, she ran across more serious illnesses—typhus and even an early sign of smallpox, which she was planning to vaccinate the next day to counteract its spread.

Sakura absently washed her hands in the single basin located in the corner of the room, steeling herself for tending to the rest of the patients.

As she dried her hands and walked to the next bed, she met the eyes of a pale man with dark hair. He smiled up at her genially, pushing himself up on his elbows. "Good afternoon. Are you a doctor?"

Sakura smiled back and sat down on a stool next to his side. "Yes, I am. How are you feeling today, sir?"

The man released a winning smile, though the skin of his cheeks was gaunter than was meant to be. "Wonderful. Never better," he boasted. His dark eyes twinkled, though Sakura couldn't help but notice the deep shadows underneath.

Sakura smiled tightly and withdrew her notepad. "You don't look well," she commented offhandedly, quickly scrawling down his physical symptoms.

He coughed, bringing a bedraggled handkerchief to his mouth. Sakura deftly noted the spots of red that already stained the yellowed fabric. She sat back on the stool and crossed her legs, leaving her notes forgotten in her lap. She waited until the fit passed and the man had laid back once more to gently ask, "How long have you been suffering, sir?"

The gentleman shook his head, noncommittal. He shut his eyes, briefly, then smiled. "I doubt knowing that will help me heal. The nurses here say my death is a foregone conclusion; I'm simply waiting for it to arrive."

Sakura sent a sharp glare to the handful of girls wearing nurse's caps; they were huddled over a patient a few beds down, changing the bedsheets. "I've found that most people have neither the education, nor the sense, to make good judgment in matters like life or death," she replied crisply.

His smile spread wider, his shoulders lifting into a shrug. "You remind me of my goddaughter. She doesn't take no for an answer either."

Sakura smiled back. "She's a smart girl, then."

"The smartest," he agreed. His eyes flicked to the door for a moment, as if expecting someone to walk through it. "She visits me often, but I think she's become too busy as of late. With a suitor."

Sakura raised her eyebrows, entertained by this elder man's gossip. "Oh? Anyone I might know?" she asked, unexpectant.

"Probably. Neji Hyuga. Of the Hyuga group."

Sakura's eyes widened. She clasped her hands into her skirts and leaned forward, catching the man's gaze again. "Neji Hyuga?"

The man nodded, his throat raspy as he fought back a cough. "I haven't met him before, as you can imagine. But my goddaughter is. . . Well, she only tells me what she thinks I should know. But I've always known how to read between the lines."

Sakura was struck by the serendipity of the moment; she slowly shook her head and turned her thoughts back to other matters. "Sir, how long have you known you've had consumption?"

There was no attempt at concealing this time—the older man met her gaze steadily, his dark eyes serious. "Four years, give or take. But the past few months have been . . ." He shook his head, trailing off.

Sakura pressed, "The last doctor that made rounds here—how did they treat you?"

The man rolled his eyes. "A lot of poking and prodding. They wrote me off as a lost cause. And so, I've resigned myself. My goddaughter had mentioned moving me upstate, to a sanatorium, but I know it's too expensive for her to pay for."

Sakura's mouth puckered in displeasure. "You aren't a lost cause. Perhaps she could take out a loan?"

The man shook his head again, face darkening. "No. Her hands are tied in that respect."

Sakura blinked, unendingly curious as to why, but the man shifted onto his side, his eyes drooping with exhaustion.

"Forgive me; this illness steals away all of my energy. I've enjoyed speaking with you, Doctor. . . ?"

"Haruno. Doctor Haruno," Sakura supplied.

The man treated her to another grin. "Doctor Haruno. My name is Guy. It's truly been a pleasure."

Sakura pursed her lips and watched him succumb to sleep. "Likewise," she replied, barely above a whisper.

* * *

Sakura was gratefully accepting a cup of tea from Hinata the next day when Neji swept into the parlor. She glanced up to meet his gaze and gave him an imperceptible nod. She watched his shoulders tighten slightly before taking the seat across from Sakura pointed out by his cousin.

"Neji, I thought you had court today," Hinata said, plucking an empty cup from the tray.

"Uncle dismissed me for the afternoon," Neji replied, shooting a glance at Sakura. "He bade me to work on more pressing things."

"And so you came here, to bother us instead," Hinata teased, glancing between he and Sakura suspiciously. She raised an eyebrow. "Unless you had something specific to address?"

Neji ducked his head down to sip his tea, wincing as the liquid burned his tongue. Following his lead, Sakura quickly drank hers down and set the cup on the coffee table. She cleared her throat and said, getting to her feet, "Thank you for this afternoon, Hinata. But there are some other patients I have yet to attend to today."

If Hinata thought this abrupt, she said nothing. She nodded easily and got to her feet, pulling Sakura into an embrace. "Of course, I understand. I'll show you out—"

"I'll escort Doctor Haruno to the gate," Neji said, getting quickly to his feet.

Sakura's face flushed at his hastiness, annoyance pricking at the back of her neck. Hinata's face shifted to open confusion, staring at her cousin. "Neji, what—?"

But instead of staying to answer her, Neji gestured for Sakura to exit into the hallway. She complied, her cheeks reddening with each step. Sakura could hear Hinata's small murmur of surprise as they left through the doorway.

Sakura shook her head and ambled down the walk towards the gate that led to the main street. "Well, that was natural," she commented, unable to help her snide tone.

Neji sighed in irritation. "My apologies. If I had asked to speak with you alone, she would have been immediately suspicious."

"If she's not suspicious now, she certainly will be when you go back into the house," Sakura pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll deal with that in a moment," Neji brushed aside. He eyed her, and Sakura lifted her chin to meet his gaze. After a pause, he said, "Thank you for your note."

Sakura sniffed, crossing her arms tighter underneath her shawl against the winter chill. "Of course. Now, what questions would you like answered?"

"You think he needs to be moved?" Neji began, eyes wandering to look up the street. "His condition is that poor?"

"Well, he's not doing anyone any favors by staying in that almshouse. Consumption is contagious, if one is exposed to it long enough. He's putting everyone in that room at risk."

Neji mulled this over, jaw twitching. "Would you suggest a sanatorium?" he asked.

Sakura shrugged. "There are some people who say they help. In my opinion, they _are_ good for one thing—the sick are with others who already have consumption, so there's less risk in infecting healthy people. From everything I've heard about them, the facilities seek to encourage exercise, rather than letting patients waste away in their beds."

Neji tapped a finger against the gate latch. "How did he seem to you?" he finally murmured, tone quieter, more circumspect. Sakura wondered if he was thinking of Guy at all, or if his thoughts were singularly focused on Guy's goddaughter.

"He is fading," Sakura said, matching Neji's thoughtful mood. "But in good spirits, considering. . . I can tell that he is close with his goddaughter."

Neji caught Sakura's eye, though she could tell he wasn't really looking at her—his thoughts were elsewhere, off with some unknown woman. _I wonder if Sasuke ever looked like that, when he was thinking of me_ , she wondered.

"Thank you, Doctor Haruno," Neji said, refocusing on her. "I'm indebted to you for this favor." He unlatched the gate, and Sakura walked through, bequeathing a small smile.

"I won't forget, Mr. Hyuga. I always cash in on my favors."

Neji nodded, expressionless, as he replied, "I'll honor it, Doctor Haruno, as long as it's in my power to do so."

 _Good enough_ , Sakura thought, and embarked on her way.

-o-

When Neji reentered the parlor, Hinata was perched on the edge of her seat, prepared to unleash her questions. One glance at her cousin, however, had Hinata hesitating.

"Something's bothering you," she said as Neji sat down on the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's nothing," Neji replied.

Hinata clenched her fists, her skirts gathered in her fingers. "You and father always treat me like some delicate flower," she scoffed, letting her frustration seep into her tone.

Neji sighed, dropping his hand from his face to consider her. "It doesn't concern you," he said.

Hinata pursed her lips in disapproval. "That's never stopped you from sharing things before," she pointed out. "I'm not used to you keeping secrets from me."

Neji drew his eyebrows together, calculating, his mouth twitching into a frown. "There aren't any secrets."

Hinata raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie. "Aren't there? You and Father and Shikamaru all have them, in one way or another. Father keeps leering around Shikamaru's office, trying to undermine his work. Shikamaru disappears at all hours of the day and night. And you've been acting strange ever since my dinner party. You came here to speak with Sakura specifically, didn't you? For what? Are you going to propose to her? Is that what this is about?"

Neji's face flamed in embarrassment. "No, it's not like that."

"Then what is it? Is someone sick? Is Father—?"

Neji shook his head, reaching for the tea kettle to refill his cup. He sighed, letting the steam unwind into the air. "No, Uncle is fine, as far as I know." He paused, gazing down at the amber liquid of his cup. "There's someone."

Hinata studied her cousin's features curiously. "Someone?" she prompted.

Neji nodded, looking pained. "I—their relative is ill. I've been asking Doctor Haruno for her professional opinion on their condition."

Hinata tilted her head at Neji, sorting through what his words meant. "This . . . someone—they can't care for their relative?" Hinata asked.

Neji shook his head, tight-lipped. Hinata reached for her teacup, sifting through her questions. "They are poor?"

Neji's face twitched again—out of guilt, Hinata guessed. Hinata sipped from her cup, then fixed her cousin with a steely gaze. "Well, it seems you have everything you need to assist them."

Neji looked up sharply, eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"

Hinata regarded Neji earnestly. "You have money. Help them. Hire Doctor Sakura to treat them or move them to a more adequate facility."

Neji ran a hand through his hair and shook his head at her suggestion. "It's not that simple, Hinata."

"Why not?" she challenged. "Your friend is unable to help their relative and you are. Why can't you?"

"They won't—I doubt they would want my help."

Hinata thought back to she and Neji's conversation revolving around the madame off Leaves St. from months ago, about how affected Neji had been. She exhaled and leaned back into her high-backed chair, suddenly tired. "You won't know if you don't try. Besides—most people are astute enough to discern motive. Is your motive pure, Neji?"

His cheeks darkened at that, and Hinata mildly wondered if her cousin had ever been in love before. A chuckle lodged in her throat.

"I want to help her, if I can," he said softly, his eyes shifting to look out the window, unseeing.

A small smile rose to Hinata's mouth. "Then do it, Neji. I won't tell Father."

-o-

Tenten was counting the money she'd received from her furniture sale to Mr. Yamato when Moegi knocked on her office door late Sunday afternoon.

"Ma'am, you have a letter."

Tenten sat straighter in her chair, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "From whom?" she asked, intrigued.

Moegi shrugged and held it out to her. "A messenger brought it."

Tenten dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief and slit the seal on the note. It read:

_Madame, you have my apologies for not coming by to see you this week. I've been preoccupied with other business._

_I have been thinking about our last conversation concerning your godfather. If his condition is severe, I wonder why you haven't sought to take him to a sanatorium. There is one that I hear comes highly recommended. I took the liberty of writing to an associate of mine who is on good terms with the proprietor. He seems to think that they wouldn't hesitate to admit your godfather, given the severity of his condition. It is almost a full day's travel north—the clearer air can do wonders for this illness, from what I've heard. I would be happy to give you the information of my acquaintance, and I am sure he would be pleased to make an introduction to the owners for you. I am confident that should you wish to admit your godfather, something could be arranged._

_I am at your disposal, should you need or want it. – Mr. N. Hyuga_

Smiling to herself, cheeks flushed, Tenten penned back a quick reply:

_Mr. Hyuga—you should be more careful. Have you forgotten to be fearful for your own reputation? What would your acquaintances say, should they learn of my profession? You'd find yourself in the middle of a scandal, and I highly doubt your family would be pleased._

_Teasing aside, I'm very grateful for your offer. But I wouldn't want to trouble you._

_\- The madame on Leaves St._

"Moegi?"

Moegi reappeared in the doorway. Tenten held the note aloft. "Will you run this over to Mr. Hyuga's office, please? The younger gentleman—not his uncle. And see if Ayame needs anything; you can pick it up for her on the way back."

Moegi raised an amused eyebrow but took it without another word.

* * *

Moegi returned just as the household was sitting down to dinner, weighed down with a string of haddock, a small sack of potatoes, and another letter, slightly crinkled. Tenten pressed her lips together to avoid a smile, placing it discreetly in her coat pocket. There was one pair of eyes, however, that noticed.

As Ayame served them the stew she'd prepared and girls chattered around them, Ino leaned towards Tenten. "Who's the letter from?"

Tenten, in the middle of ripping a chunk out of a loaf of bread, tried to keep her face flat. But she had trouble containing the pleased smirk that tugged at the corners of her mouth. Ino stared, her eyes widening.

"A love letter?" Ino hissed.

Tenten shot her a dark look and shushed her. "No, not a love letter. Correspondence. Business correspondence."

Ino all but snorted, reclining back in her chair as she studied her friend. "It's written all over your face. Who's it from?"

"None of your business," Tenten muttered back, casting her eyes around the table. Moegi had sat down at the only seat left available, on the opposite end next to Ayame. Her dark eyes watched them silently. Tenten looked away and refused to answer any more of Ino's whispered inquiries, pretending not to hear as she ate her soup.

* * *

Once the house opened to customers after dinner, Tenten escaped up to her attic room. She'd finally shaken Ino off when the blonde had drifted to sleep in front of the fireplace in the girls' quarters. Tenten reached into her coat and examined the envelope with a thrill of excitement. This note was definitely heavier than the last. Burning with curiosity, Tenten broke the seal and began pacing the room as she read, indiscriminately wiping at her running nose.

_Madame, I will confess—I did not expect such a quick response. But I am grateful for it, all the same._

_You seem very preoccupied with my reputation. Why? Am I not a grown man, able to speak to whom I wish, write letters to whom I want? We agreed when we spoke last that we would be friends—are you so eager to be rid of me, after all the obstacles we've overcome?_

Tenten smiled, pressing her hand to her mouth. She read on:

_I see I must do more to convince you. Despite my family's position and my professional reputation, I am my own person—at least, I've always tried to be. I never agree with all of my uncle's positions—in fact, we disagree on most matters. He would like people to think otherwise, for image's sake. But—you are in my confidence, are you not?_

_As to you troubling me, impossible. Think nothing of it—if I found writing letters troubling, I would have never become a lawyer._

_Your godfather's health is my concern. And since I'm aware of your situation, and have veritable connections, I do not see why I should withhold my help when you need it. Permit me this, won't you?_

_Moegi happened to mention when I asked after you that you had Mr. Yamato buy some furniture—if you are struggling, I wish you'd tell me. Please don't be cross with her for sharing it—she didn't answer me for a long time, and it was only after I implored for some scrap of news that she finally mentioned you'd sold an armchair._

_You will have to forgive me for keeping your charge so long from her other errands. I've written this while she waited, but I hope she can overlook it, since I've paid her for the delivery. Please mention that there's more pocket money to be had, if there are other notes she'd be interested in delivering. – N. Hyuga_

_P.s. One other thing—Moegi mentioned you were feeling unwell, though she didn't say if it were serious or not. I wish you good health. Please let me know if I can send a doctor to see you. -N.H._

Tenten's heart thudded as she concluded Neji's letter, coming to stop in the middle of her room. After a moment of deliberation, chewing on her thumbnail, she turned to her desk and sat down to write.

_Attempting to steal my charge from me? A very bold move, Mr. Hyuga, but I doubt she'd be interested, no matter how much money you'd pay her. Aren't lawyers supposed to swindle? You're being almost unnecessarily helpful. You'll cause everyone in your profession to meet your incredibly high standards, I fear._

Tenten put down her pen, running a hand through her hair. She glanced at the window and studied her reflection, illuminated by candlelight. She looked harried and pale. Frowning, Tenten resumed writing.

_On second thought, you should hire her. She's fast, she's discreet, she learns quickly. You can probably give her much more than I can. If you want her badly enough, I'd convince her to accept. Loyalty only goes as far as the next meal, right? It'd be a shame to lose her, but I would, if you promised to take care of her._

_The furniture—yes, I did sell it. I don't want you to think I was desperate. I've sold pieces to Mr. Yamato before, and he's always given me a fair price. Besides, coal isn't getting any cheaper. It was practical, nothing more._

_All that aside—aren't you persistent? My godfather is no relation of yours—your only claim to him is through me, only a friend, and a new one at that. You shouldn't waste your resources or put yourself at risk for it. I'm doing what I can, and my godfather has expressed complete disinterest in a sanatorium. Even if I were to accept your offer, how could I ever repay you? It would be a kindness I could not return, either in money or favors, and therefore, I can't accept, on principle._

_But I am grateful for your offer of generosity, Mr. Hyuga. Unspeakably grateful. I may taunt you, but my sentiments are real. No one has paid me much mind before, unless they wanted something from me. And I suppose in a way, that is how we started our relationship. But an understanding has grown between us—and now you're offering your help for something that in no way concerns you. Words would fail to convey what that means to me. From the bottom of my heart, thank you._

_\- T._

_PS: Yes, I've been under the weather for about a week—only a cold, nothing serious. I'll be restored to full health soon enough. Thank you for your good wishes—they are welcome._

Tenten sat back in her chair and covered her face with her hands. "What am I doing?" she whispered.

-o-

Shikamaru was halfway through a dark bottle of whisky when Hinata wandered into the parlor later that week. Hinata glanced at the clock on the wall, frowning at the time it reflected.

"Why aren't you at the office?" Hinata asked him, standing at the end of the chaise he was laid out on.

Shikamaru's eyes stayed closed as he answered her. "No point. They laugh me out of the legislature every time I show my face."

Hinata considered him, gaze flicking to the bottle. "It's too early to be drinking away the day," she said.

"It's my house. I can drink here in the middle of the afternoon if I want to," Shikamaru retorted, fingertips grazing the glass, slightly out of his reach.

"It's not proper, Shikamaru," Hinata continued, watching as he continued to grasp for his alcohol.

"When have I ever cared about what's proper?" he replied. His fingers pushed the bottle an inch closer to the edge of the table, a hairsbreadth from his grip.

"You might not, but I do," Hinata said, winding her fingers together. "I live here too."

"If you don't like it, then go back to your father's house."

Hinata's chest stung with the suggestion, her blood simmering in her veins. Steadily, she murmured, "You've been miserable for weeks. What happened? Did your mistress finally turn you out?"

The bottle closed the final space, and it fell, crashing to the floor. The glass fragmented, the liquid emptying onto Hinata's polished parquet floor. Shikamaru sat up, his dark eyes squinting up at her in surprise. His mouth twisted in distaste as his voice rose, "What did you say?"

Hinata stared back, unwilling to stand down. "Your mistress," she repeated coolly. "Did she turn you out? Is that why you've been acting this way? Or is it because your bill didn't pass? Or is it simply my presence that drives you to it, because nothing in your life ever seems to go the way you want it?"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Shikamaru thundered, eyes bloodshot and shadowed.

"Do not shout at me, Shikamaru," Hinata replied quietly, gaze unflinching. "Tell me the truth."

Shikamaru scrambled to his feet and moved towards her. Hinata stood her ground, though his breath reeked of whisky. "The truth? The truth is that I would have never married you if I hadn't been forced to," he breathed, hands shaking at his side. "The truth is that your father needed me, and he _used_ you to get what he wanted. That's all you are—a pawn in a chess game, moved around the board by me, by your father. It's all been a game, Hinata, and we're running out of pieces to maneuver with."

Hinata blinked slowly, clenching her jaw to hold back tears. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and whispered, "I don't want to be a chess piece in some political game between you and my father, Shikamaru."

Shikamaru snorted derisively. "You don't have a choice. This is the way things are. And either I'll win, or your father will. It's just a matter of who gets checkmate first." With one more defiant, lingering look, Shikamaru stormed away, leaving the broken bottle on the floor.

Hinata watched him leave, before crouching down to begin picking up the glass shards. "You're wrong," she whispered to the floor. "I do have a choice, and it is _I_ who will be successful."

-o-

It was Tuesday morning before Sakura was able to pull herself away to go visit the bawdy house on Leaves St. Her attentions had been diverted following her visit to the almshouse; she'd been stopping by every day in order to check on the patients, administering healing where she could and attempting to impart some knowledge to its witless nurses.

Mr. Guy remained upbeat, though each day he appeared sicker and paler to Sakura's naked eye. His goddaughter hadn't visited him since the previous week, and he was starting to worry.

She entered the bawdy house through the backdoor and slowly unwound her scarf, walking down the hallway towards Tenten's office. Most of the women tended to sleep in during the day, slowly trickling down the stairs around mid-morning to eat, but Tenten was almost always up and attending to business when Sakura dropped by.

She knocked on the office door and waited until she heard a meek grant for entrance. When Sakura stepped through, her body prickled involuntarily from the chill. She stared at Tenten, huddled in her large leather office chair, swamped by blankets. The grate in the fireplace was extinguished.

"Why are you in here with no fire going? It's freezing," Sakura demanded, eyebrows drawn together.

Tenten released a small, wry smile. She brought a handkerchief to her nose, sniffing, as she said plainly, "This is my office; it's where I get work done."

"Tenten, are you sick?" Sakura asked, sidling up to the brunette and pressing her palm to her forehead. Sakura scoffed—Tenten's skin was clammy with a mild fever. "Up you get," she commanded, grasping Tenten's arm to pull her to her feet.

Tenten did not protest as much as Sakura expected, only offering disgruntled comments as Sakura led her up the stairs to her attic room. When they arrived at the threshold, Tenten shook off Sakura's arm and bypassed the bed, choosing instead to sit at her desk chair in front of the window.

Sakura shook her head, crossing her arms for warmth. "How long have you had a cold?" she asked.

Tenten shrugged tiredly, rubbing at her eyes. "A week or so. I'm fine; it'll go away soon enough."

"What possessed you to sit in a room and not build a fire?"

Tenten stared at her blankly. "That's where my office is. And coal is expensive this time of year."

Sakura rolled her eyes, pressing her lips together tightly. "You'll catch your death, if you haven't already."

"A suitable end to a bawdy house madame, I'm sure," Tenten replied dryly, though Sakura could tell her usual bite was diminished.

Tenten sat back in the wooden chair and steepled her fingers over her stomach, considering Sakura languidly. "Did you bring the medicine? For Ino?"

Sakura nodded, expressionless. After hesitating a moment, she withdrew the bottle from her coat pocket and held it up for Tenten's consideration. "She's made her decision, then?" Sakura asked.

Tenten's mouth pulled to the side, her eyes moving from the bottle to the floor. "So, it seems. She can't hide her figure that much longer without people noticing."

Sakura sighed and sat down on the edge of Tenten's bed, rolling the vial between her fingers. "Why does everything have to be so hard?" she muttered.

"Character building," Tenten answered, smirking humorlessly. "Even my cold is a test, Sakura. Will I survive or fail?"

Sakura shook her head at Tenten's sarcastic chuckle. "Your health is no joke," she reprimanded. "You should take better care of yourself."

"Well, there's the rub, because I can't have both. Either I suffer through the cold with no heat so I can afford the rooms that actually need it, or I don't and everyone else gets sick instead of me." Tenten shrugged. "It was an easy choice for me to make."

"Your bravado is a little too self-sacrificing, if you ask me," Sakura said.

Tenten smiled tightly. "But I didn't."

Sakura sighed again and began rummaging through her bag, searching for a container. She withdrew it and held it out to Tenten, instructing, "Put this on your chest for twenty minutes, twice a day, and have Ayame brew you some pepper tea. You should feel better in no time. And stop sitting in your office without having a fire going."

Tenten gingerly accepted the compact, sighing as she set it down on the table. Sakura moved towards the door, intending to go down and check on Ino, but Tenten stopped her with a question.

"Sakura, how long would you say someone with consumption has to live?"

Sakura blinked and turned on her heel, her head tilted to the side in surprise. "Why do you ask?" she said slowly.

Tenten picked at the end of her shawl, her nose red as she sniffed. Warily, she said, "My godfather—I'm worried he doesn't have much time left. I want to put him in a sanatorium, but he's been sick for so many years already. I don't know if it would help at all, if it's worth it."

 _Why am I surprised?_ Sakura thought, a memory rushing back to her from several weeks ago. They had stood in this room, Tenten standing where Sakura was now, confessing to Ino that the Hyuga group was attempting to buy the bawdy house. _Of course. It's so clear now._

Sakura wondered if she should tell Tenten about Neji Hyuga's interest, about her visit to the almshouse and meeting Mr. Guy, if she should divulge everyone's secrets. She studied Tenten's face, weaker than usual from the cold, the skin under her eyes tired from sleeplessness, a single shade of color on her cheeks from her fever. There was concern in the brunette's brow, eyes distant and solemn as they gazed at Sakura. And she knew, in some semblance of a premonition, that none of this was her business and that it should remain so.

She clasped her hands in front of her and said, "It's different for everyone. I would say a few years, no more than that. You know there isn't a cure."

Tenten looked down at her hands, resting open in her lap. "I—a friend has mentioned that they have connections to a sanatorium in the north. I'm considering moving my godfather there, despite his protests." She looked at Sakura beseechingly. "Should I take up that offer? Do I have any other choice to keep him alive?"

Sakura's frown deepened, recalling Guy's wan face from only an hour or so ago. "No, I don't think you do," she responded softly.

Tenten nodded, her face shifting to resignation. With an exhale, she got to her feet and walked towards the door where Sakura was standing.

"What are you doing?" Sakura said.

"Going to visit my godfather. It'll take some convincing to persuade him to leave the almshouse."

Sakura glared at Tenten. She sharply held out her arm, barring Tenten from the door. Tenten raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"To bed!" Sakura exclaimed. "Now! I won't have you walking in that almshouse with a cold and infecting the other patients!"

Tenten took a step back, though Sakura was unsure if it was from the forcefulness of her tone or if the brunette understood the implications of her words. Sakura waited until Tenten had dropped onto the edge of her bed, trying to disguise a sheepish smile, before she swept out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

-o-

Ino stood at the sink peeling onions for the stew Ayame was preparing for dinner. Listlessly, she dug her fingernails into the paper outer skin of the vegetable, inhaling the sharp scent that erupted.

She had always relished the feeling of plants—earthy things that she could press into her palms or delicately pinch between the pads of her fingers. Her parents had owned a flower shop once. They had grown so many blossoms in the back garden—

Ino released the onion, letting it roll across Ayame's wooden preparation table. She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, watery blue irises studying the juice that leaked from the onion's torn flesh.

Within, her stomach lurched, lifted, shifted. Ino pressed her mouth into a thin line, absently tracing her protruding abdomen, covered by layers of skirts.

She hadn't decided yet, what to do, but the time was nearing. Part of her, a part deep down inside the shattered remnant of her heart, was waiting for him.

As a girl, she'd dreamed of her life—one of splendor, of parties and dancing, of gossiping with friends in the corners of stately rooms, of nice things—dresses, shoes, elaborate accessories to pin in her long hair. And she'd dreamed most often of being charmed and being charming—flirting with boys with roguish smiles, teasing gentlemen with a quirk of her mouth, allowing herself to be embraced, to be kissed, to be adored.

 _Foolish_ , Ino scolded herself, glaring at the onions before her. _A foolish dream._

At eleven, her parents' shop had begun to lose business. By the time she was twelve, Ino was scrabbling for extra money on the street to make ends-meet, but what was a girl to do, in a city this size with no money and parents that could no longer care for her?

Ino was pragmatic. She knew how the world worked—survival mattered more than pretty dresses and sweet words. And so, at twelve and a half, she'd gone to Tsunade, who had taken her in, cared for her, groomed her, and shaped her into one of the finest courtesans in the city.

When Tenten had assumed Tsunade's place, Ino had considered leaving, trying her hand again for something weightier, for something with meaning. But then she'd met Shikamaru, and she'd—what, given it up? Ino shook her head, lost in her thoughts as anxiety clenched her stomach. _No_ , she thought. _I just reached for something else. Something else that mattered._

 _Love_ , her bitter self critiqued. _And where has it gotten you? Abandoned, out of work, pregnant? He's destroyed you._

Ino gripped the onion in her grasp once more, squeezing it tightly until juice trickled down her wrist.

A sinister thought wormed its way into Ino's head: _You could destroy **him**. An eye for an eye._

Her heart clenched at the thought. She could never.

_But you could. You know where he lives, where he works. You know who his wife is. It would be so easy. . ._

More tears spilled down Ino's cheeks at the thought, frustrated at the longing in her chest to cause hurt, to seek revenge. She sucked in a deep breath and winced, her stomach rolling with a mixture of nausea and hunger. Carefully, she set down the knife and headed for the front door, desperate for fresh air.

She stepped out onto the stoop wiping her face with the back of her hand when her gaze was pulled to the gentleman standing across the street, leaning against a brick wall. She stared at him for a long moment before marching down the steps, her skirts swishing around her legs.

He was smoking a pipe, which Ino had always told him was a terrible habit—it made him smell musty, as opposed to his sandalwood cologne scent that she craved.

He regarded her passively as she came to stand in front of him, her arms hanging limply at her side. He took a slow pull on his pipe and exhaled the smoke; it curled up into the air between them, sickly sweet. Ino's stomach twisted again.

"The madame wouldn't let me see you," he said by way of explanation, shrugging, like it couldn't be helped.

Ino rolled her eyes, unable to pin down if she was angry or happy or unsurprised. "She wouldn't have stopped you if you'd been persistent," Ino retorted.

He frowned, shaking his head. "I doubt that."

Ino's lips pursed. Her hands settled on her hips, summoning her self-assurance. "Well?" she prompted flatly, raising an eyebrow.

Shikamaru looked away from her, his dark eyes bouncing to the sidewalk. He took another puff from his pipe and sighed, rubbing the edge of his thumb along his eyebrow. "It's not mine, Ino. It can't be."

"You don't know that," Ino said.

"I do. My marriage is proof of it."

Ino scoffed, brushing this aside. "That doesn't mean anything, and you know it."

Shikamaru exhaled again, lifting his eyes lazily to the blank winter sky. "It doesn't matter," he muttered. He met her gaze again, stern. "It doesn't change anything."

Ino flinched, her eyes watering a little in the chill. With her heart in her throat, she played her last card: "Ask me."

"Ino."

"Ask me!" she demanded, her lips pulling into an imperious sneer.

Shikamaru winced at her raised voice, unable to look away from her impassioned expression. His mouth was a thin line, eyes unnaturally alert as he took her in. Finally, he said, "You're a force of nature, did you know that? You deserve better than a coward. Someone who can chase after you, rather than tie you down. And that's all I would do—tie you down, hold you back, beg you to be quiet." He lifted a shoulder, nonchalant. "I don't want that."

"I could do it though," Ino replied lowly, in challenge.

"You'd hate me for it," Shikamaru said flatly. "When we met, you told me you wanted to get married one day. If I took as you my mistress or divorced my wife, it wouldn't ever amount to what you've dreamed up. I won't compare to it. And I won't try to."

"You coward!" Ino screeched, her knuckles white and shaking as she clenched her fists. "Enjoy your barren wife and your failed bills and bad policymaking—it's all you'll ever have to your name!"

"Ino—"

But she turned away, rushing back across the road and up the stairs, slamming the door hard so that it rattled in the doorframe. Ino leaned back against the wood and sucked down gulps of air, her heart clenching in her chest, her blood seething with fury and humiliation.

"Ino?" came a voice, followed by light steps on the floorboards.

Ino hurriedly dashed away the tears on her cheeks and peered into the hallway to see Sakura. She pasted a smile onto her mouth. "Good morning."

Sakura nodded in response, studying her face. If she noticed Ino's puffy eyes or the tear tracks on her cheeks, she said nothing. From her pocket, Sakura withdrew a small bottle, no bigger than Ino's thumb.

She held it out to Ino carefully, saying, "Have Ayame brew this as a tea for you. It will stop your pregnancy."

Ino stared at it, studying the roll of the liquid inside the glass. "Will it hurt?" she asked.

"Yes," Sakura murmured. "But not for very long. After you start feeling the pain, have someone fetch me. I'll help you pass it as best I can."

Ino nodded, hesitating but for a breath before snatching the vial from Sakura's fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes:
> 
> \- Typhus and smallpox were fairly common illnesses throughout the 19th century.
> 
> \- Haddock was a common fish eaten by the poor in the 19th century.
> 
> \- Parquet flooring is a way of laying wooden floors in geometric patterns to create a certain decorative look. They came into fashion in Victorian homes around the middle of the century.
> 
> \- The remedy prescribed by Sakura is a mustard paste that was common for colds among that time. Usually they'd have patients wrap the paste around with cloth before applying to prevent rash. Pepper tea is a common remedy for colds/coughs.
> 
> \- Untreated, TB could kill a person within a few months, or they could enter remission and live for several years after initial contraction—survival hinged on a variety of factors, as one can imagine. Others could recover, without treatment.
> 
> \- As the 19th century progressed and abortion/prostitution became more socially unacceptable, the drugs used to force a miscarriage became harder to get-Sakura took a risk in procuring it.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Have thoughts or guesses for future chapters? Let me know in the comments below.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FF.net. This is not a fic that sets itself firmly in a historical time period or place--though I'm drawing from the 19th century (particularly the late 1800s), and the culture and practices from that century. Please excuse if there are historical inaccuracies! I do my best to research, but sometimes things fall through the cracks.  
> A resource that inspired this idea: The Exploress podcast, the episode entitled "The Madames: The Steamy Lives of Mary Ann Hall and Madame Restell" was extremely influential.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


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